
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 


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L&Z:L, 


UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 






























TOM BROWN'S SCHOOL DAYS. 
































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SCHOOL DAYS AT RUGBY. 


BY 


AM OLD BMT. 


“ As on the one hand it should ever be remembered that we are boys, and boys at 
school, so on the other hand we must bear in mind that we form a complete social 

body, a society in which, by the nature of the case, we must not only learn, 

hut act and live ; and act and live not only as boys, but as boys who will be men.” 
— Rugby Magazine. 


BOSTON 

TICK NOR AND FIELDS. 



M DCCC LXI. 


fZ-1 

■ X 



yk '> 


author’s edition. 


07-5'w 


University Press, Cambridge : 
Printed by Welch, Bigelow, and Company. 


TO 

MES. AENOLD, 

OF FOX HOWE, 

THIS BOOK IS (WITHOUT HER PERMISSION) 

^ 2DcM catcU 

BY THE AUTHOR, 

WHO OWES MORE THAN HE CAN EVER ACKNOWLEDGE OR FORGET 

TO HER AND HERS. 


1 * 






CONTENTS 


PAET I. 


CHAPTER I, 


THE BROWN FAMILY 


• • 


CHAPTER II. 


THE YEAST 


CHAPTER III. 

SUNDRY WARS AND ALLIANCES 


CHAPTER IY, 


THE STAGE-COACH 


CHAPTER Y. 

RUGBY AND FOOTBALL . 


CHAPTER VI. 


AFTER THE MATCH 


CHAPTER VII. 

SETTLING TO THE COLLAR 

CHAPTER VIII. 

THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE 

CHAPTER IX. 

A CHAPTER OF ACCIDENTS 


r • 


PAGE 

9 


30 


54 


80 


100 


127 


150 


176 


203 


Vlll 


CONTENTS 


PART II. 

♦ 

CHAPTER I. 

HOW THE TIDE TURNED .... 

CHAPTER II. 

THE NEW BOY 

CHAPTER III. 

ARTHUR MAKES A FRIEND .... 

• CHAPTER IV. 

THE BIRD-FANCIERS 

CHAPTER Y. 

THE FIGHT 

CHAPTER VI. 

FEVER IN THE SCHOOL 

CHAPTER VII. 

HARRY EAST’S DILEMMAS AND DELIVERANCES 

CHAPTER VIII. 

TOM BROWN’S LAST MATCH .... 

CHAPTER IX. 


PAGE 

. 233 


. 249 


2G6 


. 284 


302 


. 325 


. 347 


. 3G8 


FINIS 


396 


PREFACE TO THE SIXTH ENGLISH EDITION. 


I received the following letter from an old friend soon ; 
after the last edition of this book was published, and re- 
solved, if ever another edition were called for, to print it. 
For it is clear from this and other like comments, that 
something more should have been said expressly on the 
subject of bullying, and how it is to be met. 

'* My dear , 

“ I blame myself for not having earlier suggested whether you could 
not, in another edition of Tom Brown, or another story, denounce more 
decidedly the evils of bullying at schools. You have indeed done so, 
and in the best way, by making Flashman the bully the most contempt- 
ible character ; but in that scene of the tossing , and similar passages, 
you hardly suggest that such things should be stopped — and do not 
suggest any means of putting an end to them. 

“ This subject has been on my mind for years. It fills me with grief 
and misery to think what weak and nervous children go through at 
school — how their health and character for life are destroyed by rough 
and brutal treatment. 

“ It was some comfort to be under the old delusion that fear and 
nervousness can be cured by violence, and that knocking about will 
turn a timid boy into a bold one. But now we know well enough that 
Hs not true. Gradually training a timid child to do bold acts, would be 
most desirable ; but f rightening him and ill-treating him will not make 
him courageous. Every medical man knoAvs the fatal effects of terror, 
or agitation, or excitement, to nerves that are over-sensitive. There are 
different kinds of courage, as you have shown in your character of 
Arthur. 

*‘ A boy may have moral courage, and a finely organized brain and 
nervous system. Such a boy is calculated, if judiciously educated, to 
be a great, wise, and useful man ; but he may not possess animal cour- 
age ; and one night’s tossing , or bullying, may produce such an injury 
to his brain and nerves that his usefulness is spoiled for life. I verily 
believe that hundreds of noble organizations are thus destroyed every 
year. Horse-jockeys have learnt to be wiser ; they know that a highly 
nervous horse is utterly destroyed by harshness. A groom who tried 
to cure a shying horse by roughness and violence, would be discharged 
as a brute and a fool. A man who would regulate his watch with a 
crowbar would be considered an ass. But the person who thinks a 


2 


PREFACE. 


child of delicate and nervous organization can be made bold by bullying 
is no better. 

“ He can be made bold by healthy exercise and games and sports : 
but that is quite a different thing. And even these games and sports 
should bear some proportion to his strength and capacities. 

“ I very much doubt whether small children should play with big 
ones — the rush of a set of great fellows at football, or the speed of a 
ci’icket-ball sent by a strong hitter, must be very alarming to a mere 
child, to a child who might stand up boldly enough among children of 
his own size and height. 

“ Look at half-a-dozen small children playing cricket by themselves ; 
how feeble are their blows, how slowly they bowl. You can measure in 
that way their capacity. 

“ Tom Brown and his eleven were bold enough playing against an 
eleven of about their own calibre; bujt I suspect they would have been 
in a precious funk if they had played against eleven giants, whose 
bowling bore the same proportion to theirs that theirs does to the small 
children’s above. 

“ To return to the tossing . I must say I think some means might be 
devised to enable school-boys to go to bed in quietness and peace — and 
that some means ought to be devised and enforced. No good, moral or 
physical, to those who bully or those who are bullied, can ensue from 
such scenes as take place in the dormitories of schools. I suspect that 
British wisdom and ingenuity are sufficient to discover a remedy for 
this evil, if directed in the right direction. 

“ The fact is, that the condition of a small boy at a large school is 
one of peculiar hardship and suffering. He is entirely at the mercy of 
proverbially the roughest things in the universe — great school-boys ; 
and he is deprived of the protection which the weak have in civilized 
society; for he may not complain ; if he does, he is an outlaw — he has 
no protector but public opinion, and that a public opinion >of the very 
lowest grade, the opinion of rude and ignorant boys. 

“ What do school-boys know of those deep questions of moral and 
physical philosophy, of the anatomy of_ mind and body, by which the 
treatment of a child should be regulated 11 ? 

“ Why should the laws of civilization be suspended for schools ? 
Why should boys be left to herd together with no law but that of force 
or cunning ? What would become of society if it were constituted on 
the same principles ? It would be plunged into anarchy in a week. 

“ One of our judges, not long ago, refused to extend the protection 
of the law to a child who had been ill-treated at school. If a party of 
navvies had given him, a licking, and he had brought the case before a 
magistrate, what would he have thought if the magistrate had refused 
to protect him on the ground that if such cases were brought before 
him, he might have fifty a day from one town only ? 

“ Now I agree with you, that a constant supervision of the master 
is not desirable or possible — and that telling tales, or constantly refer- 
ring to the master for protection, would only produce ill-will and worse 
treatment. 

“ If I rightly understand your book, it is an effort to improve the 
condition of schools by improving the tone of morality and public 


PREFACE. 


3 


opinion in them. But your book contains the most indubitable proofs 
that the condition of the younger boys at public schools, except under 
the rare dictatorship of an Old Brooke, is one of great hardship and 
suffering. 

“A timid and nervous boy is from morning till night in a state of 
bodily fear. He is constantly tormented when trying to learn his les- 
sons. His play-hours are occupied in fagging, in a horrid funk of 
cricket-balls and footballs, and the violent sport of creatures who, to 
him, are giants. He goes to his bed in fear and trembling — worse than 
the reality of the rough treatment to which he is perhaps subjected. 

“ I believe there is only one complete remedy. It is not in magis- 
terial supervision; nor in telling tales; nor in raising the tone of public 
opinion among school-boys — but in the separation of boys of different 
ages into different schools 

“ There should be at least three - different classes of schools — the first 
for boys from nine to twelve ; the second for boys from twelve to fif- 
teen ; the third for those above fifteen. And these schools should be in 
different localities. 

“ There ought to be a certain amount of supervision by the master 
at those times when there are special occasions for bullying, e. g. in 
the long winter evenings, and when the boys are congregated together 
in the bed-rooms. Surely it cannot be an impossibility to keep order, 
and protect the weak at such times Whatever evils might arise from 
supervision, they could hardly be greater than those produced by a 
system which divides boys into despots and slaves. 

“ Ever yours, very truly, F. D.” 

The question of how to adapt English public school edu- 
cation to nervous and sensitive boys (often the highest and ' 
noblest subjects which that education has to deal with) 
ought to be looked at from every point of view.* I there- 
fore add a few extracts from the letter of an old friend and 
school-fellow, than whom no man in England is better able 
to speak on the subject. 

“ What’s the use of sorting the boys by ages, unless you do so by 
strength : and who are often the real bulhes ? The strong young dog 


* For those who believe with me in public school education, the fact 
stated in the following extract from a note of Mr. G. De Bunsen, will 
be hailed with pleasure, especially now that our alliance with Prussia 
(the most natural and healthy European alliance for Protestant Eng- 
land) is likely to be so much stronger and deeper than heretofore. 
Speaking of this book, he says — “The author is mistaking in saying 
that public schools, in the English sense, are peculiar to England. 
Schul-P forte (in the Prussian province of Saxony ) is similar in an- 
tiquity and institutions. I like his book all the more for having been 
there for five years.” 


4 


PREFACE. 


of fourteen, while the victim may be one year or two years older . . . 

I deny the fact about the bedrooms ; there is trouble at times, and 
always will be? but so there is in nurseries; — my little girl, who looks 
like an angel, was bullying the smallest twice to-day. 

“ Bullying must be fought with in other ways — by getting not only 
the Sixth to put it down, but the lower fellows to scorn it, and by 
eradicating mercilessly the incorrigible ; and a master who really cares 
for his fellows is pretty sure to know instinctively who in his house are 
likely to be bullied, and, knowing a fellow to be really victimized and 
harassed, I am sure that he can stop it if he is resolved. There are 
many kinds of annoyance — sometimes of real cutting persecution for 
righteousness’ sake — that he can’t stop ; no more could all the ushers 
in the world ; but he can do very much in many ways to make the 
shafts of the wicked pointless. 

“ But though, for quite other reasons, I don’t like to see very young 
boys launched at a public school, and though I don’t deny (I wish I 
could) the existence from time to time of bullying, I deny its being a 
constant condition of school life, and, still more, the possibility of 
meeting it by the means proposed ” 

“ I don’t wish to understate the amount of bullying that goes on, 
but my conviction is that it must be fought, like all school evils, but it 
more than any, by dynamics rather than mechanics , by getting the 
fellows to respect themselves and one another, rather than by sitting by 
them with a thick stick.” 

And now, having broken my resolution never to write a 
Preface, there are just two or three things which I should 
like to say a word about. 

Several persons, for whose judgment I have the highest 
respect, while saying very kind things about this book, have 
added, that the great fault of it is, “ too much preaching ; 
but they hope I shall amend in this matter should I ever 
write again. Now this I most distinctly decline to do. 
Why, my whole object in writing at all, was to get the 
chance of preaching ! When a man comes to my time of 
life, and has his bread to make, and very little time to 
spare, is it likely that he will spend almost the whole of his 
yearly vacation in writing a story just to amuse, people ? I 
think not. At any rate, I wouldn’t do so myself. 

The fact is, that I can scarcely ever call on one of my 
contemporaries now-a-days without running across a boy 
already at school, or just ready to go there, whose bright 


PREFACE. 


5 


looks and supple limbs remind me of bis father, and our 
first meeting in old times. I can scarcely keep the Latin 
Grammar out of my own house any longer ; and the sight of 
sons, nephews, and godsons, playing trap-bat- and-ball, and 
reading “ Robinson Crusoe,” makes one ask oneself, whether 
there isn’t something one would like to say to them before 
they take their first plunge into the stream of life, away 
from their own homes, or while they are yet shivering after 
the first plunge. My sole object in writing was to preach 
to boys ; if ever I write again, it will be to preach to some 
other age. I can’t see that a man has any business to write 
at all unless he has something which he thoroughly believes 
and wants to preach about. If he has this, and the chance 
of delivering himself of it, let him by all means put it in 
the shape in which it will be most likely to get a hearing ; 
but let him never be so carried away as to forget that 
preaching is his object. 

A black soldier, in a West Indian regiment, tied up to 
receive a couple of dozen, for drunkenness, cried out to his 
captain, who was exhorting him to sobriety in future, 
“ Cap’n, if you preachee, preachee ; and if floggee, floggee ; 
but no preachee and floggee too ! ” to which his captain 
might have replied, “ No, Pompey, I must preach whenever 
I see a chance of being listened to, which I never did be- 
fore ; so now you must have it all together ; and I hope 
you may remember some of it.” 

Xhere is one point which has been made by several of 
the Reviewers who have noticed this book, and it is one 
which, as I am writing a Preface, I cannot pass over. They 
have stated that the Rugby undergraduates they remember 
at the Universities were, “ a solemn array,” “ boys turned 
into men before their time,” “ a semi-political, semi-sacer- 
dotal fraternity,” &c., giving the idea that Arnold turned 
out a set of young square-toes, who wore long-fingered 


6 


PREFACE. 


black gloves, and. talked with a snuffle. I can only say 
that their acquaintance must have been limited and except 
tional. For I am sure that every one who has had any- 
thing like large or continuous knowledge of boys brought 
up at Rugby, fronyme times of which this book treats down 
to this day, will bear me out in saying, that the mark bv 
which you may know them, is, their genial and hearty 
freshness and youthfulness of character. They lose nothing 
of the boy that is worth keeping, but build up the man 
upon it. This is their differentia as Rugby boys ; and if 
they never had it, or have lost it, it must be not because 
they were at Rugby, but in spite of their having been there ; 
the stronger it is in them the more deeply you may be sure 
have they drunk of the spirit of their School. 

But this boyishness in the highest sense, is not incom- 
patible with seriousness, — or earnestness, if you like the 
word better.** Quite the contrary. And I can well be- 
lieve that casual observers, who have never been intimate 
with Rugby boys of the true stamp, but have met them 
only in the every-day society of the Universities, at wines, 
breakfast parties, and the like, may have seen a good deal 
more of the serious or earnest side of their characters than 
of any other. For the more the boy was alive in them the 
less will they have been able to conceal their thoughts, or 
their opinion of what was taking place under their noses ; 
and if the greater part of that didn’t square with their 
notions of what was right, very likely they showed pretty 
clearly that it did not, at whatever risk of being taken for 
young prigs. They may be open to the charge of having 
old heads on young shoulders ; I think they are, and always 
were, as long as I can remember ; but so long as they have 

. * “ To him (Arnold) and his admirers we owe the substitution of the 
word ‘ earnest * for its predecessor « serious.’ ” — Edinburgh Revieio , 
No. 217, p. 183. 


PREFACE. 


7 


young hearts to keep head and shoulders in order, I, for 
one, must think this only a gain. 

And what gave Rugby boys this character, and has en- 
abled the School, I believe, to keep it to this day ? I say 
fearlessly, — Arnold’s teaching and example — above all, 
that part of which it has been, I will not say sneered at, 
but certainly not approved — his unwearied zeal in creating 
“ moral thoughtfulness ” in every hoy with whom he came 
into personal contact. 

He certainly did teach us — thank God for it ! — that we 
could not cut our life into slices and say, “ In this slice 
your actions are indifferent, and you needn’t trouble your 
heads about them one way or another ; but in this slice 
mind what you are about, for they are important ” — a 
pretty muddle we should have been in had he done so. He 
taught us that in this wonderful world, no hoy or man can 
tell which of his actions is indifferent and which not ; that 
by a thoughtless word or look we may lead astray a brother 
for whom Christ died. He taught us that life is a whole, 
made up of actions and thoughts and longings, great and 
small, noble, and ignoble ; therefore the only true wisdom 
for boy or man is to bring the whole life into obedience to 
Him whose world we live in, and who has purchased us 
with His blood; and that whether we eat or drink, or 
whatsoever we do, we are to do all in His name and to His 
glory ; in such teaching, faithfully, as it seems to me, fol- 
lowing that of Paul of Tarsus, who was in the habit of 
meaning what he said, and who laid down this standard for 
every man and boy in his time. I think it lies with those 
who say that such teaching will not do for us now, to show 
why a teacher in the nineteenth century is to preach a 
lower standard than one in the first. 

However, I won’t say that the Reviewers have not a cer- 
tain plausible ground for their dicta. For a short time 


8 


PftEFACE. 


after a boy has taken up such a life as Arnold would have 
urged upon him, he has a hard time of it. He finds his 
judgment often at fault, his body and intellect running 
away with him into all sorts of pitfalls, and himself coming 
down with a crash. The more seriously he buckles to his 
work the oftener these mischances seem to happen ; and in 
the dust of his tumbles and struggles, unless he is a very 
extraordinary boy, he may often be too severe on his com- 
rades, may think he sees evil in things innocent, may give 
offence when he never meant it. At this stage of his career, 
I take it, our Reviewer comes across him, and, not looking 
below the surface (as a Reviewer ought to do), at once sets 
the poor boy down for a prig and a Pharisee, when in all 
likelihood he is one of the humblest and truest and most 
childlike of the Reviewer’s acquaintance. 

But let our Reviewer come across him again in a year or 
two, when the “ thoughtful life ” has become habitual to 
him and fits him as easily as his skin ; and, if he be honest, 
I think he will see cause to reconsider his judgment. For 
he will find the boy, grown into a man, enjoying every-day 
life, as no man can who has not found out whence comes 
the capacity for enjoyment, and who is the Giver of the 
least of the good things of this world — humble, as no man 
can be who has not proved his own powerlessness to do 
right in the smallest act which he ever had to do — toler- 
ant, as no man can be who does not live daily and hourly 
in the knowledge of how Perfect Love is for ever about his 
path, and bearing with and upholding him. 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL LIFE. 


BY AN OLD BOY. 


CHAPTER I. 

** I’m the Poet of White Horse Yale, sir, 

With liberal notions under my cap.’* 

Ballad. 

The Browns have become illustrious by the pen 
of- Thackeray and the pencil of Doyle, within the 
memory of the young gentlemen who are now 
matriculating at the Universities. Notwithstanding 
the well-merited but late fame which has now fallen 
upon them, any one at all acquainted with the 
family must feel, that much has yet to be written 
and said before the British nation will be properly 
sensible of how much of its greatness it owes to 
the Browns. For centuries, in their quiet, dogged, 
homespun way, they have been subduing the earth 
in most English counties, and leaving their mark in 
American forests and Australian uplands. Where- 
2 * [ 9 ] 


10 


THE BROWN FAMILY. 


ever the fleets and armies of England have won 
renown, there stalwart sons of the Browns have 
done yeomen’s work. With the yew-bow and 
cloth-yard shaft at Cressy and Agincourt, with 
the brown bill and pike under the brave Lord 
Willoughby, with culverin and demi-culverin against 
Spaniards and Dutchmen, with hand-grenade and 
sabre, and musket and bayonet, under Rodney 
and St. Vincent, Wolfe and Moore, Nelson and 
Wellington, they have carried their lives in their 
hands; getting hard knocks and hard work in 
plenty, which was on the whole what they looked 
for, and the best thing for them, and little praise 
or pudding, which indeed they, and most of us, 
are better without. Talbots and Stanleys, St. 
Maurs, and such like folk, have led armies and 
made laws, time out of mind ; but those noble fami- 
lies would be somewhat astounded, if the accounts 
ever came to be fairly taken, to find how small 
their work for England has, been by the side of 
that of the Browns. 

These latter, indeed, have until the present genera- 
tion rarely been sung by poet, or chronicled by sage. 
They have wanted their “ sacer vates,” having been 
too solid to rise to the top by themselves, and not 
having been largely gifted with the talent of catch- 
ing hold of, and holding on tight to, whatever good 
things happened to be going, — the foundation of the 
fortunes of so many noble families. But the world 
goes on its way, and the wheel turns, and the wrongs 
of the Browns, like other wrongs, seem in a fair 
way to get righted. And this present writer hav- 


THE BROWN CHARACTER. 


11 


ing for many years of bis life been a devout Brown- 
worshipper, and moreover having the honour of being 
nearly connected with an eminently respectable 
branch of the great Brown family, is anxious, so far 
as in him lies, to help the wheel over, and throw his 
stone on the pile. 

However, gentle reader, or simple reader, which- 
ever you may be, lest you should be led to waste 
your precious time upon these pages, I make so bold 
as at once to tell you the sort of folk you’ll have to 
meet and put up with, if you and I are to jog on 
comfortably together. You shall hear at once what 
sort of folk the Browns are, at least my branch of 
them ; and then if you don’t like the sort, why cut 
the concern at once, and let you and me cry quits 
before either of us can grumble at the other. 

In the first place, the Browns are a fighting family. 
One may question their wisdom, or wit, or beauty, 
but about their fight there can be no question. 
Wherever hard knocks of any kind, visible or invisi- 
ble, are going, there the Brown who is nearest must 
shove in his carcass. And these carcasses for the 
most part answer very well to the characteristic pro- 
pensity ; they are a square-headed and snake-necked 
generation, broad in the shoulder, deep in the chest* 
and thin in the flank, carrying no lumber. Then for 
clanship, they are as bad as Highlanders ; it is amaz- 
ing the belief they have in one another. With them 
there is nothing like the Browns, to the third and 
fourth generation. “ Blood is thicker than water,” 
is one of their pet sayings. They can’t be happy 
unless they are always meeting one another. Never 


12 THE BROWN FAMILY CHARACTERISTICS. 

were such people for family gatherings, which, were 
you a stranger or sensitive, you might think had 
better not have been gathered together. For during 
the whole time of their being together they luxuriate 
in telling one another their minds on whatever sub- 
ject turns up, and their minds are wonderfully an- 
tagonist, and all their opinions are downright beliefs. 
Till you’ve been among them some time and under- 
stand them, you can’t think but that they are quar- 
relling. Not a bit of it ; they love and respect one 
another ten times the more after a good set family 
arguing bout, and go back, one to his curacy, another 
to his chambers, and another to his regiment, fresh- 
ened for work, and more than ever convinced that the 
Browns are the height of company. 

This family training too, combined with their turn 
for combativeness, makes them eminently quixotic. 
They can’t let any thing alone which they think 
going wrong. They must speak their mind about it, 
annoying all easy-going folk ; and spend their time 
and money in having a tinker at it, however hopeless 
the job. It is an impossibility to a Brown to leave 
the most disreputable lame dog on the other side of a 
stile. Most other folk get tired of such work. The 
old Browns, with red faces, white whiskers, and bald 
heads, go on believing and fighting to a green old 
age. They have always a crotchet going, till the old 
man with the scythe reaps and garners them away, 
for troublesome old boys as they are. And the most 
provoking thing is, that no failures knock them up, 
or make them hold their hands, or think you, or me, 
or other sane people in the right. 


TOM BROWN S BIRTHPLACE. 


1*1 


Failures slide off them like July rain off a duck’s 
back feathers. Jem and his whole family turn out 
bad, and cheat them one week, and the next they 
are doing the same things for Jack ; and when he 
goes to the tread-mill, and his wife and children to 
the workhouse, they will be on the look-out for Bill 
to take his place. 

However, it is time for us to get from the general to 
the particular ; so leaving the great army of Browns, 
who are scattered over the whole empire on which 
the sun never sets, and whose general diffusion I 
take to be the chief cause of that empire’s stability ; 
let us at once fix our attention upon the small nest 
of Browns in which our hero was hatched, and which 
dwelt in that portion of the royal county of Berks 
which is called the Vale of White Horse. 

Most of you have probably travelled down the 
Great Western Railway as far as Swindon. Those 
of you who did so with their eyes open, have been 
aware, soon after leaving the Didcot station, of a 
fine range of chalk hills running parallel with the 
railway on the left-hand side as you go down, and 
distant some two or three miles, more or less, from 
the line. The highest point in the range is the 
White Horse Hill, which you come in front of just 
before you stop at the Shrivenham station. If you 
love English scenery and have a few hours to spare, 
you can’t do better, the next time you pass, than 
stop at the Farringdon road, or Shrivenham station, 
and make your way to that highest point. And 
those who care for the vague old stories that haunt 
country sides all about England, will not, if they 


14 


THE OLD BOY MOITMETH. 


are wise, be content with only a few hours’ stay; foT 
glorious as the view is, the neighbourhood is yet 
more interesting for its relics of bygone times. I 
only know two English neighbourhoods thoroughly, 
and in each, within a circle of five miles, there is 
enough of interest and beauty to last any reasonable 
man his life. I believe this to be the case almost 
throughout the country, but each has its special 
attraction, and none can be richer than the one I 
am speaking of and going to introduce you to very 
particularly ; for on this subject I must be prosy ; so 
those that don’t care for England in detail may skip 
the chapter. 

Oh Young England ! Young England ! You 
who are born into these racing railroad times, when 
there’s a Great Exhibition, or some monster sight, 
every year, and you can get over a couple of thou- 
sand miles of ground for three pound ten, in a five 
weeks’ holiday ; why don’t you know more of your 
own birthplaces ? You’re all in the ends of the 
earth, it seems to me, as soon as you get your necks 
out of the educational cQllar, for Midsummer holi- 
days, long vacations, or what not. Going round Ire- 
land with V' return ticket, in a fortnight ; dropping 
your copies of Tennyson on the tops of Swiss 
mountains ; or pulling down the Danube in Oxford 
racing-boats. And when you get home for a quiet 
fortnight, you turn the steam off, and lie on your 
backs in the paternal garden, surrounded by the last 
batch of books from Mudie’s library, and half bored 
to death. Well, well! I know it has its good side. 
You all patter French more or less, and perhaps Ger 


OYEE YOUNG ENGLAND. 


15 


man ; yon have seen men and cities,, no doubt, and 
have your opinions, such as they are, about schools 
of painting, high art, and all that; have seen the 
pictures at Dresden and the Louvre, and know the 
taste of sourkrout. All I say is, you don’t know 
your own lanes and woods and fields. Though you 
may be chock full of science, not one in twenty of 
you knows where to find the wood sorrel, or bee- 
orchis, which grow in the next wood, or on the down 
three miles off, or what the hog-bean and wood-sage 
are good for. And as for the country legends, the 
stories of the olagfable-ended farm-houses, the place 
where the last skirmish was fought in the civil wars, 
where the parish Butts stood, where the last high- 
wayman turned to bay, where the last ghost was 
laid by the parson, they’re gone out of date alto- 
gether. 

Now in my time, when we got home by the old 
coach, which put us down at the cross-roads with 
our boxes the first day of the holidays, and had been 
driven off by the family coachman, singing “ Dulce 
domum” at the top of our voices, there we were, fix- 
tures, till Black Monday came round. We had to 
cut out our own amusements within a walk or a ride 
of home. And so we got to know all the country 
folk, and their ways and songs and stories, by heart ; 
and went over the fields and woods and hills, again 
and again, till we made friends of them all. We were 
Berkshire, or Gloucestershire, or Yorkshire boys, and 
you’re young cosmopolites, belonging to all counties 
and no countries. No doubt it’s all right, I dare say 
it is. This is the day of large views and glorious 


16 


THE YALE OF WHITE HOUSE. 


humanity, and all that ; but I wish backsword play 
had’nt gone out in the Vale of White Horse, and 
that that confounded Great Western hadn’t carried 
away Alfred’s Hill to make an embankment. 

But to return to the .said Vale of White Horse, 
the country in which the first scenes of this true 
and interesting story are laid. As I said, the Great 
Western now runs right through it, and it is a land 
of large rich pastures, bounded by ox-fences, and 
covered with fine hedgerow timber, with here and 
there a nice little gorse or spinney, where abideth 
poor Charley, having no other cover to which to 
betake himself for miles and miles, when pushed 
out some fine November morning by the Old Berk- 
shire. Those who have been there, and well mounted, 
only know how he, and the stanch little pack who 
dash after him, heads high and sterns low, with a 
breast-high scent, can consume the ground at such 
times. There _ being little plough-land, and few 
woods, the Vale is only an average sporting country, 
except for hunting. The villages are straggling, 
queer, old-fashioned places, the houses being dropped 
down without the least regularity, in nooks and out- 
of-the-way corners, by the sides of shadowy lanes 
and footpaths, each with its patch of garden. They 
are built chiefly of good gray stone and thatched, 
though I see that within the last year or two the 
red-brick cottages are multiplying, for the Vale is 
beginning to manufacture largely both bricks and 
tiles. There are lots of waste ground by the side of 
the roads in every village, amounting often to village 
greens, where feed the pigs and ganders of the peo- 


VALES IN GENERAL. 


17 


pie ; and these roads are old-fashioned, homely roads, 
very dirty and badly made, and hardly endurable 
in winter, but still pleasant jog-trot roads, running 
through the great pasture lands, dotted here and 
there with little clumps of thorns, where the sleek 
kine are feeding, with no fence on either side of them, 
and a gate at the end of each field, which makes you 
get out of your gig (if you keep one) and gives 
you a chance of looking about you every quarter of a 
mile. 

One of the moralists whom we sat under in my 
youth, — was it the great Richard Swiveller, or Mr. 
Stiggins? — says, “ we are born in a vale, and must 
take the consequences of being found in such a 
situation.” These consequences, I for one am ready 
to encounter. I pity people who weren’t born in a 
vale. I don’t mean a flat country, but a vale ; that 
is, a flat country bounded by hills. The having 
your hill alvjays in view if you choose to turn 
towards him, that’s the essence of a vale. There 
he is forever in the distance, your friend and com- 
panion ; you never lose him as you do in hilly 
districts. 

And then what a hill is the White Horse Hill! 
There it stands right up above all the rest, nine hun- 
dred feet above the sea, and the boldest, bravest 
shape* for a chalk hill that you ever saw. Let us go 
up to the top of him, and see what is to be found 
there. Aye, you may well wonder, and think it odd 
you never heard of this before ; but, wonder or not, 
as you please, there are hundreds of such things 
lying about England, which wiser folk than you 

3 


18 


WHITE HOUSE HILL. 


know nothing of, and care nothing for. Yes, it’s 
a magnificent Roman camp, and no mistake, with 
gates, and ditch, and mounds, all as complete as it 
was twenty years after the strong old rogues left 
it. Here, right up on the highest point, from which 
they say you can see eleven counties, they trenched 
round all the table-land, some twelve or fourteen 
acres, as was their custom, for they couldn’t bear 
anybody to overlook them, and made their eyrie. 
The ground falls away rapidly on all sides. Was 
there ever such turf in the whole world ? You sink 
up to your ankles at every step, and yet the spring 
of it is delicious. There is always a breeze in the 
“ camp,” as it is called, and here it lies, just as the 
Romans left it, except that cairn on the east side, left 
by Her Majesty’s corps of sappers and miners the 
other day, when they and the engineer officer had 
finished their sojourn there, and their surveys for the 
Ordnance Map' of Berkshire. It is altogether a 
place that you won’t forget, — a place to open a 
man’s soul and make him prophesy, as he looks 
down on that great Yale, spread out as the garden 
of the Lord before him, and wave on wave of the 
mysterious downs behind; and to the right and left 
the chalk hills running away into the distance, along 
which he can trace for miles the old Roman road 
“the Ridgeway” (“the Rudge ” as the country-folk 
call it), keeping straight along the highest back of 
the hills; — such a place as Balak brought Balaam 
to, and told him to prophesy against the people in 
the valley beneath. And he could not, neither shall 
you, for they are a people of the Lord who abide 
there. 


BATTLE OF ASHDOWN. 


19 


And now we leave the camp, and descend towards 
the west, and are on the Ashdown. We are tread- 
ing on heroes. It is sacred ground for Englishmen, 
more sacred than all but one or two fields where 
their bones lie whitening. For this is the actual 
place where our Alfred won his great battle, (the 
battle of Ashdown, “iEscendum” in the chroniclers,) 
which broke the Danish power, and made England 
a Christian land. The Danes held the camp, and 
the slope where we are standing, the whole crown of 
the hill in fact. “ The heathen had beforehand seized 
the higher ground,” as old Asser says, having wasted 
everything behind them from London, and being 
just ready to burst down on the fair vale, Alfred’s 
own birthplace and heritage. And up the heights 
came the Saxons, as they did at the Alma. “ The 
Christians led up their line from the lower ground. 
There stood also on that same spot a single thorn 
tree, marvellous stumpy (which we ourselves with 
our very own eyes have seen.) ” Bless the old 
chronicler ! does he think nobody ever saw the 
“ single thorn treee ” but himself? Why, there it 
stands to this very day, just on the edge of the slope, 
and I saw it not three weeks since ; an old single 
thorn tree, “ marvellous stumpy.” At least, if it isn’t 
the same tree, it ought to have been/ for it’s just in 
the place where the battle must have been won or 
lost — “aiound which, as I was saying, the two lines 
of foemen came together in battle with a huge shout. 
And in this place, one of the two kings of the 
heathen and five of his earls fell down and died, and 
many thousands of the heathen side in the same 


20 


giant’s stairs — dragon's hill. 


place.” * After which crowning mercy, the pious 
king, that there might never be wanting a sign and 
a memorial to the country-side, carved out on the 
northern side of the chalk hill, under the camp, where 
it is almost precipitous, the great Saxon white horse, 
which he who will may see from the railway, and 
which gives its name to the vale, over which it has 
looked these thousand years and more. 

Right down below the White Horse, is a curious 
deep and broad gully called “ the Manger,” into one 
side of which the hills fall with a series of the most 
lovely sweeping curves, known as “ the Giant’s 
Stairs ; ” they are not a bit like stairs, but I never 
saw anything like them anywhere else, with their 
short green turf, and tender blue-bells, and gossamer 
and thistle down gleaming in the sun, and the sheep- 
paths running along their sides like ruled lines. 

The other side of the Manger is formed by the 
Dragon’s Hill, a .curious little round self-conhdent 
fellow, thrown forward from the range, and utterly 
unlike every thing round him. On this hill, some 
deliverer of mankind, St. George, the country folk 
used to tell me, killed a dragon. Whether it were 
St. George, I cannot say, but surely a dragon was 

* “ Pagani editioVem locum prseoccupaverant. Christiani ab in- 
feriori loco aciem dirigebant. Erat quoque in eodem loco unica spinosa 
arbor, brevis admodum, (quam nos ipsi nostris propriis oculis vidimus.) 
Circa quam ergo hostiles inter se acies cum ingenti clamore hostilitcr 
conveniunt. Quo in loco alter de duobus Paganorum regibus et quin- 
que comites occisi occubuerunt, et multa millia Paganse partis in eodem 
looo. Cecidit illic ergo Baegsceg Rex, et Sidroc ille senex comes, et 
Sidroc unior comes, et obsbern comes, &c.” — Annates Rerum Gesta- 
rum JElfredi Magni , Auctore Asserio. Recensuit Franciscus Wise 
Oxford , 17*22, p. 23. 


WATLAND SMITH’S CAYE. 


21 


killed there, for von may see the marks yet where 
his blood ran down, and more-by-token the place 
where it ran down is the easiest way up the hill- 
side. 

Passing along the Ridgeway to the west for about 
a mile, we come to a little clump of young beech < 
and firs, with a growth of thorn and privet under- 
wood. Here you may find nests of the strong down 
partridge and peewit, but take care that the keeper 
isn’t down upon you; and in the middle of it is an 
old cromlech, a huge flat stone raised on seven or 
eight others, and led up to by a path, with large 
single stones set up on each side. This is Way- 
land Smith’s cave, a place of classic fame now ; 
but as Sir Walter has touched it, I may as well 
let it alone, and refer you to Kenilworth for the 
legend. 

The thick deep wood which you see in the hol- 
low, about a mile off, surrounds Ashdown Park, 
built by Inigo Jones. Four broad alleys are cut 
through the wood from circumference to centre, 
and each leads to one face of the house. The mys- 
tery of the downs hangs about house and wood, as 
they stand there alone, so unlike all around, with 
the green slopes, studded with great stones just 
about this part, stretching away on all sides. It 
was a wise Lord Craven, I think, who pitched his 
tent there. 

Passing along the Ridgeway to the east, we soon 
come to cultivated land. The downs, strictly so 
called, are no more ; Lincolnshire farmers have been 
imported, and the long fresh slopes are sheep-walks 

3 * 


22 THE SEVEN BARROWS THE BLOWING STONE. 

no more, but grow famous turnips and barley. One 
of these improvers lives over there at the “ Seven 
Barrows” farm, another mystery of the great downs. 
There are the barrows still, solemn and silent, like 
ships in the calm sea, the sepulchres of some sons of 
men. But of whom ? It is three miles from the 
White Horse, too far for the slain of Ashdown to 
be buried there, — who shall say what heroes are 
waiting there ? But we must get down into the 
vale again, and so away by the Great Western Rail- 
way to town, for time and the printer’s devil press, 
and it is a terrible long and slippery descent, and a 
shocking bad road. At the bottom, however, there 
is a pleasant public, whereat we must really take a 
modest quencher, for the down air is provocative of 
thirst. So we pull up under an old oak which 
stands before the door. 

“ What is the name of your hill, landlord ?” 

“ Blawing Stwun Hill, sir, to be sure.” 

[Reader. “ Sturm ? ” 

Author. “ Stone , stupid ! the Blowing Stone.” ] 

“ And of your house ? 1 can’t make out the sign.” 

“ Blawing Stwun, sir,” says the landlord, pouring 
out his old ale from a Toby Philpot jug, with a 
melodious crash, into the long-necked glass. 

“ What queer names,” say we, sighing at the end 
of our draught, and holding out the glass to be re- 
plenished. 

u Be’ant queer at all, as I can see, sir,” says mine 
host, handing back our glass, “ seeing as this here is 
the Blawing Stwun his self,” putting his hand on a 
square lump of stone, some three feet and a half 


THE BLOWING STONE KINGSTONE LISLE. 


23 


high, perforated with two or three queer holes, like 
petrified antediluvian rat-holes, which lies there 
close under the oak, under our very nose. We are 
more than ever puzzled, and drink our second glass 
of ale, wondering what will come next. “ Like to 
hear un, sir?” says mine host, setting down Toby 
Philpot on the tray, and resting both hands on the 
“Stwun.” We are ready for anything; and he, 
without waiting for a reply, applies his mouth to 
one of the rat-holes. Something must come of it, 
if he does’nt burst. Good heavens! I hope he has 
no apoplectic tendencies. Yes, here it comes, sure 
enough, a grewsome sound between a moan and a 
roar, and spreads itself away over the valley, and up 
the hill-side, and into the woods at the back of the 
house, a ghost-like, awful voice. “ Um do say, sir,” 
says mine host, rising purple-faced, while the moan 
is still coming out of the Stwun, “as they used in 
old times to warn the country-side, by blawing the 
Stwun when the enemy was a cornin’ — and as how 
folks could make um heered then for seven mile 
round, leastways so I’ve heered lawyer Smith say, 
and he knows a smart sight about them old times.” 

* We can scarcely swallow lawyer Smith’s seven 
miles, but could the blowing of the stone have been 
a summons, a sort of sending the fiery cross round 
the neighbourhood in the old times? What old 
times? Who knows? We pay for our beer, and 
are thankful. 

“And what’s the name of the village just below, 
landlord?” 

“ Kingston e Lisle, sir.*” 


24 


FARBINGDON AND PUSET. 


“ Fine plantations you’ve got here ? ” 

“ Yes, sir, the Squire’s ’mazin fond of trees and 
such like.” 

u No wonder. He’s got some real beauties to be 
fond of. Good-day, landlord.” 

“ Good-day, sir, and a pleasant ride to ’e.” 

And now, my boys, you whom I want to get for 
readers, have you had enough? Will you give in 
at once, and say you’re convinced, and let me begin 
my story, or will you have more of it? Remember, 
I’ve only beeft over a little bit of the hill-side yet, 
what you could ride round easily on your ponies in 
an hour. I’m only just come down into the vale, 
by Blowing Stone Hill, and if I once begin about 
the vale, what’s to stop me? You’ll have to hear all 
about Wantage, the birthplace of Alfred, and Far- 
ringdon, which held out so long for Charles the First, 
(the vale was near Oxford, and dreadfully malig- 
nant; full of Throgmortons, Puseys, and Pycs, and 
such like, and their brawny retainers.) Did you ever 
read Thomas Ingoldsby’s “ Legend of Hamilton 
Tighe?” If you haven’t, you ought to have. Well, 
Farringdon is where he lived before he went to sea ; 
his real name was Hamden Pye, and the Pyes were 
the great folk at Farringdon. Then there’s Pusev. 
You’ve heard of the Pusey horn, which King Canute 
gave to the Puseys of that day, and which the gal- 
lant old squire, lately gone to his rest, (whom 
Berkshire freeholders turned out of last Parliament, 
to their eternal disgrace, for voting according to his 
conscience,) used to bring out on high days, holi- 
days, and bonfire nights. And the splendid old 


TOM BROWS’S HOME. 


25 


Cross church at Uffington, the Uffingas town ; — how 
the whole country-side teems with Saxon names 
and memories ! And the old moated grange at 
Compton, nestled close under the hill-side, where 
twenty Marianas may have lived, with its bright 
water-lilies in the moat, and its yew walk, “ the 
cloister walk,” and its peerless terraced gardens. 
There they all are, and twenty things besides, for 
those who care about them, and have eyes. And 
these are the sort of things you may find, I believe, 
every one of you, in any common English country 
neighbourhood. 

Will you look for them under your own noses, or 
will you not? Well, well! I’ve done what I can 
to make you, and if you will go gadding over half 
Europe now every holiday, I can’t help it. I was 
bom and bred a west-countryman, thank God! a 
Wessex man, a citizen of the noblest Saxon king- 
dom of Wessex, a regular “Angular Saxon,” the 
very soul of me “adscriptus glebae.” There’s noth- 
ing like the old country-side for me, and no music 
like the twang of the real old Saxon tongue, as one 
gets it fresh from the veritable chaw in the White 
Horse Yale: and I say with “Gaarge Ridler,” the 
old west-country yeoman, 

“ Throo aall the waarld owld Gaarge would bwoast 
Commend me to merry owld England mwoast : 

While Tools gwoes praating vur and nigh, 

We stwops at whum, my dog and I.” 

Here at any rate lived and stopped at home, 
Squire Brown, J. P. for the County of Berks, in a vil- 
lage near the foot of the White Horse range. And 


26 


SQUIRE BROWN AND HIS HOUSEHOLD. 


here he dealt out justice and mercy in a rough way, 
and begat sons and daughters, and hunted the fox, 
and grumbled at the badness of the roads and the 
times. And his wife dealt out stockings, and calico 
shirts, and smock frocks; and comforting drinks to 
the old folks with the “ rheumatiz,” and good* counsel 
to all. And kept the coal and clothes clubs going, for 
yule tide, when the bands of mummers came round, 
dressed out in ribbons and coloured-paper caps ; and 
stamped round the Squire’s kitchen, repeating in true 
sing-song vernacular the legend of St. George and 
his fight, and the ten-pound doctor, who plays his 
part at healing the saint, — a relic, I believe, of the 
old middle-age mysteries. It was the first dramatic 
representation which greeted the eyes of little Tom, 
who was brought down into the kitchen by his 
nurse to witness it, at the mature age of three years. 
Tom was the eldest child of his parents, ancT from 
his earliest babyhood exhibited the family character- 
istics in great strength. He was a hearty strong boy 
from the first, given to fighting with and escaping 
from his nurse, and fraternizing with all the village 
boys, with whom he made expeditions all round the 
neighbourhood. And here in the quiet old-fashioned 
country village, under the shadow of the everlasting 
hills, Tom Brown was reared, and never left it till 
he went first to school when nearly eight years of 
age, — for in those days change of air twice a-year 
was not thought absolutely necessary for the health 
of all her Majesty’s lieges. 

I have been credibly informed, and am inclined 
to believe, that the various boards of directors of 


THE OLD BOY ABUSETH MOVING ON. 27 

railway companies, those gigantic jobbers and 
bribers, while quarrelling about every thing else, 
agreed together, some ten years back, to buy up the 
learned profession of medicine, body and soul. To 
this end they set apart several millions of money, 
which they continually distribute judiciously amongst 
the doctors, stipulating only this one thing, that they 
shall prescribe change of air to every patient who 
can pay, or borrow money to pay, a railway fare, 
and see their prescription carried out. If it be not 
for this, why is it that none of us can be well at 
home for a year together ? It wasn’t so twenty 
years ago, — not a bit of it. The Browns didn’t go 
out of the county once in five years. A visit to 
Reading or Abingdon twice a-year, at Assizes or 
Quarter Sessions, which the Squire made on his 
horse with a pair of saddle-bags containing his 
wardrobe, a stay of a day or two at some country 
neighbour’s, or an expedition to a county ball or the 
yeomanry review, made up the sum of the Brown 
locomotion in most years. A stray Brown from 
some distant county dropped in every now and then, 
or from Oxford on grave nag, an old don contem- 
porary of the Squire ; and were looked upon by the 
Brown household, and the villagers, with the same 
sort of feeling with which we now regard a man 
who has crossed the Rocky Mountains, or launched 
a boa£ on the great lake in Central Africa. The 
White Horse Vale, remember, was traversed by no 
great road, nothing but country parish roads, and 
these very bad. Only one coach ran there, and this 
one only from Wantage to London, so that the 


28 TOM BROWN WISHKTH TO MOYE ON. 

western part of the Yale was without regular means 
of moving on, and certainly didn’t seem to want 
them. There was the canal, by the way, which sup- 
plied the country-side with coal, and up and down 
which continually went the long barges, with the big 
black men lounging by the side of the horses along 
the towing-path, and the women in bright colour- 
ed handkerchiefs standing in the sterns, steering. 
Standing, I say, but you could never see whether 
they were standing or sitting, all but their heads and 
shoulders being out of sight in the cozy little cabins 
which occupied some eight feet of the stern, and 
which Tom Brown pictured to him seif as the most 
desirable of residences. His nurse told him that 
those goodnatured-looking women were in the con- 
stant habit of enticing children into the barges, and 
taking them up to London and selling them, which 
Tom wouldn’t believe, and which made him resolve 
as soon as possible to accept the oft-proffered invita- 
tion of these sirens to “ young master,” to come in 
and have a ride. But as yet the nurse was too 
much for Tom. 

Yet why should I, after all, abuse the gad-about 
propensities of my countrymen? We are a vaga- 
bond nation now, that’s certain, for better for worse. 
I am a vagabond ; I have been away from home no 
less than five distinct times in the last year. The 
Queen sets us the example — we are Ynoving on 
from top to bottom. Little dirty Jack, who abides 
in Clement’s Inn gateway, and blacks my boots for a 
penny, takes his month’s hop-picking every year as a 
matter of course. Why shouldn’t he ? I’m delight- 


THE OLD HOY APPEOVETH MOVING ON. 


25 


ed at it. I love vagabonds, only I prefer poor to rich 
ones ; — couriers and ladies’ maids, imperials and 
travelling carriages are an abomination unto me, I 
cannot away with them. But for dirty Jack, and 
every good fellow who, in the words of the capital 
French song, moves about, 

“ Comme le limaqon 
Portant tout son bagage, 

Sea meubles, sa maison,” 

on. his own back, why, good luck to them, and many 
a merry road-side adventure, and steaming supper in 
the chimney-corners of road-side inns, Swiss chalets, 
Hottentot kraals, or wherever else they like to go. 
So having succeeded in contradicting myself in my 
first chapter, (which gives me great hopes that you 
will all go on, and think me a good fellow notwith- 
standing my crotchets,) I shall here shut up for the 
present, and consider my ways ; having resolved to 
“sar’ it out,” as we say in the Vale, “ holus-bolus” 
just as it comes, and then you’ll probably get the 
truth out of me. 


CHAPTER II. 


THE YEAST. 


“ And the King commandeth and forbiddeth, that from henceforth 
neither fairs nor markets be kept in Church-yards, for the honour of 
the Church.” — Statutes : 13 Edw. L Stat. u. cap. vi. 


As that venerable and learned poet (whose volu- 
minous works we all think it the correct thing to 
admire and talk about, but don’t read often,) most 
truly says, “ the child is father to the man ; ” a for- 
tiori, therefore, he must be father to the boy. So, 
as we are going at any rate to see Tom Brown 
through his boyhood, supposing we never get any 
further, (which, if you show a proper sense of the 
value of this history, there is no knowing but what 
we may,) let us have a look at the life and environ- 
ments of the child, in the quiet country village to 
which we were introduced in the last chapter. 

Tom, as has been already said, was a robust 
and combative urchin, and at the age of four 
began to struggle against the yoke and authority 
of his nurse. That functionary was a good-hearted, 
tearful, scatter-brained girl, lately taken by Tom’s 
mother, Madam Brown as she was called, from 
the village school to be trained as nurserymaid. 
Madam Brown was a rare trainer of servants, 
and spent herself freely in the profession ; for 
profession it was, and gave her more trouble by 

r¥\' 


TOM BROWNES NURSE. 


31 


half than many people take to earn a good in- 
come. Her servants were known and sought after 
for miles round. Almost all the girls who at- 
tained a certain place in the village school were 
taken by her, one or two at a time, as house- 
maids, laundrymaids, nurserymaids, or kitchenmaids, 
and after a year or two’s drilling, were started in 
life amongst the neighbouring families, with good 
principles and wardrobes. One of the results of 
this system was the perpetual despair of Mrs. 
Brown’s cook and own maid, who no sooner had a 
notable girl made to their hands, than Missus was 
sure to find a good place for her and send her off, 
taking in fresh importations from the school. An- 
other was, that the house was always full of young 
girlsr, with clean shining faces, who broke plates 
and scorched linen, but made an atmosphere of 
cheerful homely life about the place, good for every 
one who came within its influence. Mrs. Brown 
loved young people, and in fact human creatures 
in general, above plates and linen. They were more 
like a lot of elder children than servants, and felt to 
her more as a mother or aunt than as a mistress. 

Tom’s nurse was one who took in her instruction 
very slowly, — she seemed to have two left hands 
and no head ; and so Mrs. Brown kept her on longer 
than usual, that she might expend her awkwardness 
and forgetfulness upon those who would not judge 
and punish her too strictly for them. 

Charity Lamb was her name. It had been the 
immemorial habit of the village, to christen chil- 
dren either by Bible names, or by those of the 


32 


TOM BROWN’S FIRST REBELLION. 


cardinal and other virtues ; so that one was for- 
ever hearing in the village-street, or on the green, 
shrill sounds of, “ Prudence ! Prudence ! thee cum 5 
out o’ the gutter ; ” or, “ Mercy ! d’rat the girl, what 
bist thee a doin’ wi’ ’little Faith ? ” and there were 
Ruths, Rachels, Keziahs, in every corner. The same 
with the boys ; they were Benjamins, Jacobs, Noahs, 
Enochs. I suppose the custom has come down from 
Puritan times, — there it is at any rate, very strong 
still in the Yale. 

Well, from early morn till dewy eve, when she 
had it out of him in the cold tub before putting 
him to bed, Charity and Tom were pitted against 
one another. Physical power was as yet on the 
side of Charity, but she hadn’t a chance with 
him wherever head-work was wanted. This war 
of independence began every morning before break- 
fast, when Charity escorted her charge to a neigh- 
bouring farm-house which supplied the Browns, 
and where, by his mother’s wish, Master Tom 
went to drink whey before breakfast. Tom had 
no sort of objection to whey, but he had a decided 
liking for curds, which were forbidden as unwhole- 
some, and there was seldom a morning that he 
did not manage to secure a handful of hard curds, 
in defiance of Charity and of the farmer’s wife. 
The latter, good soul, was a gaunt angular woman, 
who, with an old black bonnet on the top of 
her head, the strings dangling about her shoulders, 
and her gown tucked through her pocket-holes, 
went clattering about the dairy,, cheese-room, and 
yard, in high pattens. Charity was some sort of 


TOM BROWN’S CASTLE OF REEUGE. 


33 


niece of the old lady’s and was consequently 
free of the farm-house and garden, into which 
she could not resist going for the purposes of 
gossip and flirtation with the heir apparent, who 
was a dawdling fellow, never out at work, as 
he ought to have been. The moment Charity 
had found her cousin, or any other occupation, 
Tom would slip away ; and in a minute shrill 
cries would be heard from the dairy, “ Charity, 
Charity, thee lazy hussy, where bist ? ” and Tom 
would break cover, hands and mouth full of curds, 
and take refuge on the shaky surface of the great 
muck reservoir in the middle of the yard, dis- 
turbing the repose of the great pigs. Here he 
was in safety, as no grown person could follow 
without getting over their knees ; and the luck- 
less Charity, while her aunt scolded her from the 
dairy-door, for being “ alius hankering about arter 
our Willum, instead of minding Master Tom,” 
would descend from threats to coaxing, to lure Tom 
out of the muck, which was rising over his shoes, 
and would soon tell a tale on his stockings, for 
which she would be sure to catch it from Missus’s 
maid. 

Tom had two abettors in the shape of a couple 
of old boys, Noah and Benjamin by name, who 
defended him from Charity, and expended much 
lime upon his education. They were both of them 
retired servants of former generations of the Browns. 
Noah Crooke was a keen, dry old man of almost 
ninety, but still able to totter about. He talked to 
Tom quite as if he were one of his own family, and 

4* 


34 


TOM BROWN’S ABETTORS NOAH. 


indeed had long completely identified the Browns 
with himself. In some remote age he had been the 
attendant of a Miss Brown, and had conveyed her 
about the country on a pillion. He had a little 
round picture of the identical gray horse, capari- 
soned with the identical pillion, before which he 
used to do a sort of fetish worship, and abuse turn- 
pike roads and carriages. He wore an old full- 
bottomed wig, the gift of some dandy old Brown 
whom he had valeted in the middle of last century, 
which habiliment Master Tom looked upon with 
considerable respect, not to say fear, and indeed his 
whole feeling towards Noah was strongly tainted 
with awe ; and when the old gentleman was gath- 
ered to his fathers, Tom’s lamentation over him was 
not unaccompanied by a certain joy at having seen 
the last of the wig : “ Poor old Noah, dead and 
gone,” said he, “ Tom Brown so sorry ! Put him in 
the coffin, wig and all.” 

But old Benjy was young Master’s real delight 
and refuge. He was a youth by the side of Noah, 
scarce seventy years old. A cheery, humourous, 
kind-hearted old man, full of sixty years of vale gos- 
sip, and of all sorts of helpful ways for young and 
old, but above all for children. It was he who bent 
the first pin, with which Tom extracted his first 
stickleback out of “ pebbly brook,” the little stream 
which ran through the village. The first stickleback 
was a splendid fellow, with fabulous red and blue 
gills. Tom kept him in a small basin until the day 
of his death, and became a fisherman from that day. 
Within a month from the taking of the first stickle. 


TOM BROWN'S ABETTORS BENJY. 35 

back, Benjy had carried off our hero to the canal 
in defiance of Charity, and between them, after a 
whole afternoon’s popjoying, they had caught three 
or four small coarse fish and a perch, averaging per- 
haps two-and-a-half inches each, which Tom bore 
home in rapture to his mother as a precious gift, 
and she received like a true mother with equal rap- 
ture, instructing the cook nevertheless, in a private 
interview, not to prepare the same for the Squire’s 
dinner. Charity had appealed against old Benjy 
in the meantime, representing the dangers of the 
canal banks ; but Mrs. Brown, seeing the boy’s in- 
aptitude for female guidance, had decided in Benjy’s 
favor, and from thenceforth the old man was Tom’s 
dry nurse. And as they sat by the canal, watching 
their little green-and-white float, Benjy would in- 
struct him in the doings of deceased Browns. How 
his grandfather, in the early days of the great war, 
when there was much distress and crime in the 
Yale, and the magistrates had been threatened by 
the mob, had ridden in with a big stick in his 
hand, and held the Petty Sessions by himself. How 
his great uncle, the rector, had encountered and 
laid the last ghost, who had frightened the old 
women, male and female, of the parish, out of their 
senses, and who turned out to be the blacksmith’s 
apprentice, disguised in drink and a white sheet. 
Jt was Benjy, too, who saddled Tom’s first pony, 
and instructed him in the mysteries of horseman- 
ship, teaching him to throw his weight back and 
keep his hand low ; and who stood chuckling out- 
side the door of the girls’ school, when Tom rode 


36 


BENJY'S KIN. 


his little Shetland into the cottage and round the 
table, where the old dame and her pupils were 
seated at their work. 

Benjy himself was come of a family distinguished 
in the Vale for their prowess in all athletic games. 
Some half-dozen of his brothers and kinsmen had 
gone to the wars, of whom only one had survived 
to come home, with a small pension, and three 
bullets in different parts of his body ; he had shared 
Benjy’s cottage till his death, and had left him his 
old dragoon’s sword and pistol, which hung over 
the mantel-piece, flanked by a pair of heavy single- 
sticks, with which Benjy himself had won renown 
long ago as an old gamester, against the picked 
men of Wiltshire and Somersetshire in many a 
good bout at the revels and pastimes of the country- 
side. For he had been a famous backsword man in 
his young days, and a good wrestler at elbow and 
collar. 

Backswording and wrestling were the most seri- 
ous holiday pursuits of the Vale, those by which 
men attained fame, and each village had its cham- 
pion. I suppose that, on the whole, people were 
less worked then than they are now ; at any rate 
they seemed to have more time and energy for the 
old “ pastimes.” The great times for backswording 
came round once a-year in each village, at the feast. 
The Vale “ veasts ” were not the common statute 
feasts, but much more ancient business. They are 
literally, so far as one can ascertain, feasts of the 
dedication, i. e. they were first established in the 
churchyard, on the day on which the village church 


OUR YEAST. 


37 


was opened for public worship, which was on the 
wake or festival of the patron saint, and have been 
held on the same day in every year since that time. 

There was no longer any remembrance of why 
the K veast” had been instituted, but nevertheless it 
had a pleasant and almost sacred character of its 
own. For it was then that all the children of the 
village, wherever they were scattered, tried to get 
home for a holiday to visit their fathers and mothers 
and friends, bringing with them their wages or some 
little gift from up the country for the old folk. Per- 
haps for a day or two before, but at any rate on 
<; veast-day” and the day after, in our village, you 
might see strapping healthy young men and women 
from all parts of the country going round from 
house to house in their best clothes, and finishing 
up with a call on Madam Brown, whom they would 
consult as to putting out their earnings to the best 
advantage, or how to expend the same best for the 
benefit of the old folk. Every household, however 
poor, managed to raise a “ feast-cake ” and bottle of 
ginger or raisin wine, which stood on the cottage 
table ready for all comers, and not unlikely to make 
them remember feast-time, — for feast-cake is very 
solid, and full of huge raisins. Moreover feast-time 
was the day of reconciliation for the parish. If Job 
Higgins and Noah Freeman hadn’t spoken for the 
last six months, their “ old women ” would be sure 
to get it patched up by that day. And though there 
was a good deal of drinking and low vice in the 
booths of an evening, it was pretty well confined to 
those who would have been doing the like, “ veast 


38 


APPROACH OF YEAST-DAY. 


or no veast,” and on the whole, the effect was 
humanizing and Christian. In fact, the only reason 
why this is not the case still, is that gentlefolk and 
farmers have taken to other amusements, and have 
as usual forgotten the poor. They don’t attend the 
feasts themselves and call them disreputable, where- 
upon the steadiest of the poor leave them also, and 
they become’ what they are called. Class amuse- 
ments, be they for dukes or ploughboys, always be- 
come nuisances and curses to a country. The true 
charm of cricket and hunting is, that they are still 
more or less sociable and universal ; there’s a place 
for every man who will come and take his part. 

No one in the village enjoyed the approach of 
“ veast-day ” more than Tom, in the year in which 
he was taken under old Benjy’s tutelage. The feast 
was held in a large green field at the lower end of 
the village. The road to Farringdon ran along one 
side of it, and the brook by the side of the road ; 
and above the brook was another large gently slop- 
ing pasture-land, with a footpath running down it 
from the churchyard ; and the old church, the origi- 
nator of all the mirth, towered up with its gray 
walls and lancet windows, overlooking and sanc- 
tioning the whole, though its own share therein had 
been forgotten. At the point where the footpath 
crossed the brook and road, and entered on the field 
where the feast was held, was a long, low, road-side 
inn, and on the opposite side of the field was a 
large white thatched farm-house, where dwelt an 
old sporting farmer, a great promoter of the revels. 

Past the old church and down the footpath, pot- 


EVE OF YEAST-DAY. 


39 


tered the old man and the child, hand-in-hand, 
early on the afternoon of the day before the feast, 
and wandered all round the ground, which was 
already being occupied by the “ cheap Jacks,” with 
their green covered carts and marvellous assortment 
of wares, and the booths of more legitimate small 
traders with their tempting arrays of fairings and 
eatables ; and penny peep-shows and other shows, 
containing pink-eyed ladies, and dwarfs, and boa- 
constrictors, and wild Indians. But the object of 
most interest to Benjy, and of course to his pupil 
also, was the stage of rough planks some four feet 
high, which was being put up by the village car- 
penter for the backsword ing and wrestling ; and 
after surveying the whole tenderly, old Benjy led his 
charge away to the road-side inn, where he ordered 
a glass of ale and a long pipe for himself, and 
discussed these unwonted luxuries on the bench 
outside, in the soft autumn evening with mine host, 
another old servant of the Browns, and speculated 
with him on the likelihood of a good show of old 
gamesters to contend for the morrow’s prizes, and 
told tales of the gallant bouts of forty years back, to 
which Tom listened with all his ears and eyes. 

But who shall tell the joy of the next morning, 
when the church bells were ringing a merry peal, 
and old Benjy appeared in the servants’ hall resplen- 
dent in a long blue coat and brass buttons, and a 
pair of old yellow buckskins and top-boots, which 
he had cleaned for and inherited from Tom’s grand- 
father ; a stout thorn stick in his hand, and a nose- 
gay of pinks and lavender in his button-hole, and 


40 


MORNING OF THE YEAST. 


led away Tom in his best clothes, and two new 
shillings in his breeches-pockets ? Those two, at 
any rate, look like enjoying the day’s revel. 

They quicken their pace when they get into the 
churchyard, for already they see the field thronged 
with country folk, the men in clean white smocks or 
velveteen or fustian coats, with rough plush waist- 
coats of many colours, and the women in the beau- 
tiful long crimson cloak, the usual out-door dress of 
west-country women in those days, and which often 
descended in families from mother to daughter, or 
in new-fashioned stuff shawls, which, if they would 
but believe it, don’t become them half so well. 
The air resounds with the pipe and tabor, and the 
drums and trumpets of the showmen shouting at 
the doors of their caravans, over which tremendous 
pictures of the wonders to be seen within hang 
temptingly ; while through all rises the shrill “ root- 
too-too-too ” of Mr. Punch, and the unceasing pan- 
pipe of his satellite. 

“ Lawk a’ massey, Mr. Benjamin,” cries a stout 
motherly woman in a red cloak, as they enter the 
field, “ be that you? Well I never! you do look 
purely. And how’s the Squire, and Madam and the 
family ? ” 

Benjy graciously shakes hands with the speaker, 
who has left our village for some years, but has 
come over for Veast-day on a visit to an old gos- 
sip, and gently indicates the heir apparent of the 
Browns. 

“ Bless his little heart? I must gi’ un a kiss. 
Here, Susannah, Susannah ! ” cries she, raising her- 


GOSSIPING PRELIMINARY. 


41 


self from the embrace, “ come and see Mr. Benjamin 
and young Master Tom. You minds our Sukey, 
Mr. Benjamin, she be growed a rare slip of a wench 
since you seen her, tho’ her’ll be sixteen come Mar- 
tinmas. I do aim to take her to see Madam to get 
her a place.” 

And Sukey comes bouncing away from a knot of 
old school-fellows, and drops a curtsy to Mr. Ben- 
jamin. And elders come up from all parts to 
salute Benjy, and girls who have been Madam’s 
pupils to kiss Master Tom. And they carry him 
off to load him with fairings; and he returns to 
Benjy, his hat and coat covered with ribbons, and 
his pockets crammed with wonderful boxes which 
open upon ever new boxes and boxes, and popguns, 
and trumpets, and apples, and gilt gingerbread from 
the stall of Angel Heavens, sole vendor thereof, 
whose booth groans with kings and queens, and 
elephants, and prancing steeds, all gleaming with 
gold. There was more gold on Angel’s cakes than 
there is ginger in those of this degenerate age. 
Skilled diggers might yet make a fortune in the 
churchyards of the Vale, by carefully washing the 
dust of the consumers of Angel’s gingerbread. 
Alas ! he is with his namesakes, and his receipts 
have, I fear, died with him. 

And then they inspect the penny peep-show, at 
least Tom does, while old Benjy stands outside and 
gossips, and walks up the steps, and enters the mys- 
terious doors of the pink-eyed lady, and the Irish 
giant, who do not by any means come up to their 
pictures, and the boa will not swallow his rabbit, 
5 


42 


JINGLING MATCH. 


but there the rabbit is waiting to be swallowed — 
and what can you expect for tuppence? We are 
easily pleased in the Vale. Now there is a rush of 
the crowd, and a tipkling bell is heard, and shouts 
of laughter; and Master Tom mounts on Benjy’s 
shoulders and beholds a jingling match in all its 
glory. The games are begun, and this is the open- 
ing of them. It is a quaint game, immensely 
amusing to look at, and as I don’t know whether 
it is used in your counties, I had better describe it. 
A large roped ring is made, into which are intro- 
duced a dozen or* so of big boys and young men 
who mean to play; these are carefully blinded and 
turned loose into the ring, and then a man is intro- 
duced not blindfolded, with a bell hung round his 
neck, and his two hands tied behind him. Of 
course every time he moves, the bell must ring, as 
he has no hand to hold it, and so the dozen blind- 
folded men have to catch him. This they cannot 
always manage if he is a lively fellow, but half of 
them always rush into the arms of the other half, 
or drive their heads together, or tumble over ; and 
then the crowd laughs vehemently, and invents 
nicknames for them on the spur of the moment, 
and they, if they be choleric, tear off the handker 
chiefs which blind them, and not unfrequently pitch 
into one another, each thinking that the other must 
have run against him on purpose. It is great fun 
to look at a jingling match certainly, and Tom 
shouts and jumps on old Benjy’s shoulders at the 
sight, until the old man feels weary and shifts him 
to the strong young shoulders of the groom who has 
just got down to the fun. 


STA.KES FOB THE BACKSWORDING. 


43 


AndMiow, while they are climbing the pole in 
another part of the field, and muzzling in a flour-tub 
in another, the old farmer, whose house, as has been 
said, overlooks the field, and who is master of the 
revels, gets up the steps on to the stage and announ- 
ces to all whom it may concern, that a half-sovereign 
in money will be forthcoming for the old gamester 
who breaks most heads ; to which the Squire and 
he have added a new hat. 

The amount of the prize is sufficient to stimulate 
the men of the immediate neighbourhood, but not 
enough to bring any very high talent from a dis- 
tance ; so, after a glance or two round, a tall fellow, 
\tho is a down shepherd, chucks his chat, on to the 
stage and climbs up the steps, looking rather sheep- 
ish ; the crowd of course first cheer, and then chaff 
as usual, as he picks up his hat and begins handling 
the sticks to see which will suit him. 

“ Wooy, Willum Smith, thee canst plaay wi’ he 
arra daay,” says his companion to the blacksmith’s 
apprentice, a stout young fellow of nineteen or 
twenty. Willum’s sweetheart is in the “veast” 
somewhere, and has strictly enjoined him not to 
get his head broke at backswording, on pain of her 
highest displeasure ; but as she is not to be seen, (the 
women pretend not to like to see the backsword 
play, and keep away from the stage,) and his hat is 
decidedly getting old, he chucks it on to the stage, 
and follows himself, hoping that he will only have to 
break other people’s heads, or that, after all, Rachel 
won’t really mind. 

Then follows the greasy cap lined with fur, of a 


44 


THE PLAYERS. 


half-gipsey, poaching, loafing fellow, who travels the 
Vale not for much good I fancy : 

“ Full twenty times was Peter feared 
For once that Peter was respected ** 

in fact. And then three or four other hats, includ- 
ing the glossy castor of Joe Willis, the self-elected 
and would-be champion of the neighbourhood, a well- 
to-do young butcher of twenty-eight or thereabouts, 
and a great strapping fellow with his full allowance 
of bluster. This is a capital show of gamesters, 
considering the amount of the prize ; so while they 
are picking their*- sticks and drawing their lots, I 
think I must tell you as shortly as I can how the 
noble old game of backsword is played ; for it is 
sadly gone out of late, even in the Vale, and may-be 
you have never seen it. 

The weapon is a good stout ash-stick with a 
large basket handle, heavier and somewhat shorter 
than a common single-stick. The players are called 
“ old gamesters,’’ — why, I can’t tell you, — and their 
object is simply to break one another’s heads : for 
the moment that blood runs an inch anywhere 
above the eyebrow, the old gamester to whom it 
belongs is beaten, and has to stop. A very slight 
blow with the sticks will fetch blood, so that it is by 
no means a punishing pastime, if the men don’t 
play on purpose, and savagely, at the body and 
arms of their adversaries. The old gamester going 
into action only takes off his hat and coat, and 
arms himself with a stick ; he then loops the fingers 
of his left hand in a handkerchief or strap which he 
fastens round his left leg, measuring the length, so 


ARMS AND ACCOUTREMENTS — JOE AND THE GIPSEY. 45 


that when he draws it tight with his left elbow in 
the air, that elbow shall just reach as high as his 
crown. Thus you see, so long as he chooses to 
keep his left elbow up, regardless of cuts, he has a' 
perfect guard for the left side of his head. Then 
he advances his right hand above and in front of 
his head, holding his stick across so that its point 
projects an inch or two over his left elbow, and thus 
his whole head is completely guarded, and he faces 
his man armed in like manner, and they stand some 
three feet apart, often nearer, and feint, and strike, 
and return at one another’s heads, until one cries 
“ hold,” or blood flows ; in the first case they are 
allowed a minute’s time, and go on again ; in the 
latter, another pair of gamesters are called on. If 
good men are playing, the quickness of the returns 
is marvellous ; you hear the rattle like that a boy 
makes drawing his stick along palings, only heavier, 
and the closeness of the men in action to one an- 
other gives it a strange interest, and makes a spell 
at backswording a very noble sight. 

They all are suited now with sticks, and Joe 
Willis and the gipsey man have drawn first lot. 
So the rest lean against the rails of the stage, and 
Joe and the dark man meet in the middle, the boards 
having been strewed with sawdust ; Joe’s white 
shirt and spotless drab breeches and boots contrast- 
ing with the gipsey’s coarse blue shirt and dirty 
green velveteen breeches and leather gaiters. Joe is 
evidently turning up his nose at the other, and half 
insulted at having to break his head. 

The gipsey is a tough active fellow, but not very 
5 * 


46 


WILL SMITH AND THE SHEPHERD. 


skilful with his weapon, so that Joe’s weight and 
strength tell in a minute ; he is too heavy metal for 
him : whack, whack, whack, come his blows, break 
ing down the gipsey’s guard, and threatening to 
reach his head every moment. There it is at last — 

“ Blood, blood ! ” shout the spectators as a thin 
stream oozes out slowly from the roots of his hair, 
and the umpire calls to them to stop. The gipsey 
scowls at Joe under his brows in no pleasant man- 
ner, while Master Joe swaggers about, and makes 
attitudes, and thinks himself, and shows that he 
thinks himself, the greatest man in the field. 

Then follow several stout sets-to between the 
other candidates for the new hat, and at last come 
the shepherd and Willum Smith. This is the crack 
set-to of the day. They are both in famous wind, 
and there is no crying “ hold ; ” the shepherd is an 
old hand and up to all the dodges; he tries them 
one after another, and very nearly gets at Willum’s 
head by coming in near, and playing over his guard 
at the half-stick, but somehow Willum blunders 
through, catching the stick on his shoulders, neck, 
sides every now and then, anywhere but on his 
head, and his returns are heavy and straight, and he 
is the youngest gamester, and a favourite in the 
parish, and his gallant stand bryigs down shouts 
and cheers, and the knowing ones J think he’ll win if 
he keeps steady, and Tom on the’ groom’s shoulders 
holds his hands together, and can hardly breathe for 
excitement. 

Alas for Willum! his sweetheart, getting tired of 
female companionship, has been hunting the booths 


JOE HAS ALL THE LUCK. 


47 


to see where he can have got to, and now catches 
sight of him on the stage in full combat. She 
flushes and turns pale ; her old aunt catches hold of 
her, saying, “ Bless ’ee, child, doan’t’ee go a’nigst 
it ; ” but she breaks away, and runs towards the 
stage calling his name. Willum keeps up his guard 
stoutly, but glances for a moment towards the 
voice. No guard will do it, Willum, without the 
eye. The shepherd steps round and strikes, and 
the point of his stick just grazes Willum’s forehead, 
fetching off the skin, and the blood flows, and the 
umpire cries “ hold,” and poor Willum’s chance is 
up for the day. But he takes it very well, and puts 
on his old hat and coat, and goes down to be scolded 
by his sweetheart, and led away out of mischief. 
Tom hears him say coaxingly, as he walks off — 

“ Now doan’t ’ee, Rachel ! I wouldn’t ha’ done it, 
I only wanted summut to buy’ee a fairing wi’, and I 
be as vlush o’ money as a twod o’ veathers.” 

“ Thee mind what I tells ’ee,” rejoins Rachel, sau- 
cily, “and doan’t’ee kep blethering about fairings.” 
Tom resolves in his heart to give Willum the re- 
mainder of his two shillings after the backswording. 

Joe Willis has all the luck to-day. His next bout 
ends in an easy victory, while the shepherd has a 
tough job to break his second head; and when Joe 
and the shepherd meet, and the whole circle expect 
and hope to see 'him get a broken crown, the shep- 
herd slips in the first round and falls against the 
rails, hurting himself so that the old farmer will not 
let him go on, much as he wishes to try ; and that 
impostor Joe (for he is certainly not the best man) 


48 A NEW “ OLD GAMESTER. 

struts and swaggers about the stage the conquering 
gamester, though he hasn’t had five minutes’ really 
trying play. 

Joe takes the new hat in his hand, and puts the 
money into it, and then as if a thought strikes him, 
and he doesn’t think his victory quite acknowledged 
down below, walks to each face of the stage, and 
looks down, shaking the money, and chaffing as how 
he’ll stake hat and money and another half-sovereign 
“ agin any gamester as hasn’t played already.” Cun- 
ning Joe! he thus gets rid of Willum and the shep- 
herd, who is quite fresh again. 

No one seems to like the offer, and the umpire is 
just coming down, when a queer old hat, something 
like a Doctor of Divinity’s shovel, is chucked on to 
the stage, and an elderly quiet man steps out, who 
has been watching the play, saying he should like to 
cross a stick wi’ the prodigalish young chap. 

The crowd cheer and begin to chaff Joe, who 
turns up his nose and swaggers across to the sticks, 
“lmp’dent old wosbird!” says he, “I’ll break the bald 
head on un to the truth.” 

The old boy is very bald certainly, and the blood 
will show fast enough if you can touch him, Joe 

He takes off his long-flapped coat, and stands up 
in a long-flapped waistcoat, which Sir Roger De 
Coverley might have worn when it was new, picks 
out a stick, and is ready for Master Joe, who loses 
no time, but begins his old game, whack, whack, 
whack, trying to break down the old man’s guard 
by sheer strength. But it won’t do, — he catches 
every blow close by the basket, and though he is 


JOE OUT OF LUCK. 


49 

rather stiff in his returns, after a minute walks Joe 
about the stage, and is clearly a stanch old gamester. 
Joe now comes in, and making the most of his height, 
tries to get over the old man’s guard at half-stick, by 
which he takes a smart blow in the ribs, and another 
on the elbow, and nothing more. And now he loses 
wind and begins to puff, and the crowd laugh : “ Cry 
‘hold,’ Joe, — thee’st met thy match!” Instead of 
taking good advice and getting his wind, Joe loses 
his temper, and strikes at the old man’s body. 

“Blood, blood!” shout the crowd, “Joe’s head’s 
broke ! ” 

Who’d have thought it? How did it come? 
That body-blow left Joe’s head unguarded for a 
moment, and with one turn of the wrist the old 
gentleman has picked a neat little bit of skin off 
the middle of his forehead, and though he won’t 
believe it, and hammers on for three more blows 
despite of the shouts, is then convinced by the 
blood trickling into his eye. Poor Joe is sadly 
crestfallen, and fumbles in his pocket for the other 
half-sovereign, but the old gamester won’t have it. 
“ Keep thy money, man, and gi’s thy hand,” says 
he, and they, shake hands ; but the old gamester 
gives the new hat to the shepherd, and soon after the 
half-sovereign to Willum, who thereout decorates his 
sweetheart with ribbons to his heart’s content. 

“ Who can a be ? ” “ Wur do a cum from ? ” ask 

the crowd. And it soon flies about that the old west- 
country champion, who played a tie with Shaw, the 
Life-guardsman at “ Vizes,” twenty years before, has 
broken Joe Willis’s crown for him. 


50 


THE REVELS ARE OYER. 


How my country fair is spinning out! I see I 
must skip the wrestling, and the boys jumping in 
sacks, and rolling wheelbarrows blindfolded ; and 
the donkey race, and the fight which arose thereout, 
marring the otherwise peaceful “yeast;” and the 
frightened scurrying away of the female feast-goers, 
and descent of Squire Brown, summoned by the 
wife of one of the combatants to stop it; which he 
wouldn’t start to do till he had got on his top-boots. 
Tom is carried away by old Benjy dog-tired and 
surfeited with pleasure, as the evening comes on 
and the dancing begins in the booths ;• and though 
Willum and Rachel in her new ribbons and many 
another good lad and lass don’t come away just yet, 
but have a good step out, and enjoy it, and get no 
harm thereby, yet we being sober folk will just stroll 
away up through the churchyard, and by the old 
yew-tree; and get a quiet dish of tea and a parle 
with our gossips, as the steady ones of our village 
do, and so to bed. 

That’s the fair true sketch, as far as it goes, of 
one of the larger village feasts in the Vale of Berks, 
when I was a little boy. They are much altered for 
the worse, I am told. I haven’t been at one these 
twenty years, but I have been at the statute fairs in 
some west-country towns, where servants are hired, 
and greater abominations cannot be found. What 
village feasts have come to, I fear in many cases, 
may be read in the pages of Yeast, (though 1 never 
saw one so bad — thank God!) 

Do you want to know why? It is because, as 
I said before, gentlefolk and farmers have left oft 


THE OLD BOY MOKALIZETH ON YEASTS. 


51 


joining or taking an interest in them. They don’t 
either subscribe to the prizes, or go down and enjoy 
the fun. 

Is this a good or a bad sign ? I hardly know. 
Bad, sure enough, if it only arises from the further 
separation of classes consequent on twenty years of 
buying cheap and selling dear, and its accompany- 
ing overwork ; or because our sons and daughters 
have their hearts in London club-life, or so called 
society, instead of in the old English home duties; 
because farmers’ sons are aping fine gentlemen, 
and farmers’ daughters caring more to make bad 
foreign music than good English cheeses. Good, 
perhaps, if it be that the time for the old “veast” 
has gone by ; that it is no longer the healthy sound 
expression of English country holiday-making; that 
in fact we as a nation have got beyond it, and are 
in a transition state, feeling for and soon likely to 
find some better substitute. 

Only I have just got this to say before I quit the 
text. Don’t let reformers of any sort think that they 
are going really to lay hold of the working boys and 
young men of England by any educational grapnel 
whatever, which hasn’t some bond fide equivalent 
for the games of the old country “veast” in it; 
something to put in the place of the backswording 
and wrestling and racing; something to try the 
muscles of men’s bodies, and the endurance of their 
hearts, and to make them rejoice in their strength. 
In all the new-fangled comprehensive plans I see, 
this is all left out ; and the consequence is, that* your 
great Mechanics’ Institutes end in intellectual prigg- 


52 


THE OLD BOY’S VIEWS OF MANY THINGS. 


ism, and your Christian Young Men’s Societies in 
religious Pharisaism. 

Well, well, we must bide our time. Life isn’t all 
beer and skittles, — but beer and skittles, or some- 
thing better of the same sort, must form a good part 
of every Englishman’s education. If I could only 
drive this into the heads of you rising Parliamentary 
Lords, and young swells who “ have your ways 
made for you,” as the saying is, — you, who frequent 
palaver houses and West-end clubs, waiting always 
ready to strap yourselves on to the back of poor 
dear old John, as soon as the present used-up lot 
(your fathers and uncles) who sit there on the great 
Parliamentary-majorities’ pack-saddle, and make be- 
lief they’re guiding him with their red-tape bridle, 
tumble, or have to be lifted off! 

I don’t think much of you yet — I wish I could ; 
though you do go talking and lecturing up and 
down the country to crowded audiences, and are 
busy with all sorts of philanthropic intellectualism, 
and circulating libraries and museums, and, heaven 
only knows what besides ; and try to make us think, 
through newspaper reports, that you are even as we 
of the working classes. But, bless your hearts, we 
“ ain’t so green,” though lots of us of all sorts toady 
you enough certainly, and try to make you think so. 

I’ll tell you what to do now: instead of all this 
trumpeting and fuss, which is only the old Parlia- 
mentary-majority dodge over again — just you go 
each of you (you’ve plenty of time for it, if you’ll 
only give up t’other line), and quietly make three or 
four friends, real friends, among us. You’ll find a 


THE OLD HOY’S ADVICE TO YOUNG SWELLS. 53 


little trouble in getting at the right sort, because 
such birds don’t come lightly to your lure; but found 
they may be. Take, say, two out of the professions, 
lawyer, parson, doctor, wnich you will ; one out of 
trade, and three or four out of the working classes, 
tailors, engineers, carpenters, engravers, — there’s 
plenty of choice. Let them be men of your own 
ages, mind, and ask them to your homes ; introduce 
them to your wives and sisters, and get introduced 
to theirs : give them good dinners, and talk to them 
about what is really at the bottom of your hearts, 
and box, and run, and row with them, when you 
have a chance. Do all this honestly as man to man, 
and by the time you come to ride old John, you’ll be 
able to do something more than sit on his back, and 
may feel his mouth with some stronger bridle than a 
red-tape one. 

Ah, if you only would! But you have got too 
far out of the right rut, I fear. Too much over-civil- 
ization, and the deceitfulness of riches. It is easier 
for a camel to go through the eye of a needle. 
More’s the pity. I never came across but two of you, 
who could value a man wholly and solely for what 
was in him, who thought themselves verily and in- 
deed of the same flesh and blood as John Jones the 
attorney’s clerk, and Bill Smith the costermonger, 
and could act as if they thought so. 


6 


CHAPTER III. 


SUNDRY WARS AND ALLIANCES. 

Poor old Benjy ! the “ rheumatiz ” has much to 
answer for all through English country-sides, but it 
never played a scurvier trick than in laying thee by 
the heels, when thou wast yet in a green old age. 
The enemy, which had long been carrying on a sort 
of border warfare, and trying his strength against 
Benjy’s on the battle-field of his hands and legs, now 
mustering all his forces began laying siege to the 
citadel, and overrunning the whole country. Benjy 
was seized in the back and loins; and though he 
made strong and brave fight, it was soon clear enough 
that all which could be beaten of poor old Benjy 
would have to give in before long. 

It was as much as he could do now, with the help 
of his big stick and frequent stops, to hobble down 
to the canal with Master Tom, and bait his hook 
for him, and sit and watch his angling, telling him 
quaint old country stories ; and when Tom had no 
sport, and detecting a rat some hundred yards or so 
oft* along the bank, would rush off* with Toby the 
turnspit-terrier, his other faithful companion, in boot- 
less pursuit, he might have tumbled in and been 
drowned twenty times over before Benjy could have 
got near him. 

Cheery and unmindful of himself as Benjy was, 


benjy’s decline. 


55 


this loss of locomotive power bothered him greatly. 
He had got a new object in his old age, and was 
just beginning to think himself useful again in the 
world. He feared much, too, lest Master Tom should 
fall back again into the hands of Charity and the 
women. So he tried every thing he could think of 
to get set up. He even went an expedition to the 
dwelling of one of those queer mortals, who, say 
what we will, and reason how we will, do cure 
simple people of diseases of one kind or another 
without the aid of physic, and so get to themselves 
the reputation of using charms, and inspire for 
themselves and their dwellings great respect, not 
to say fear, amongst a simple folk such as the 
dwellers in the Vale of White Horse. Where this 
power, or whatever else it may be, descends upon 
the shoulders of a man whose ways are not straight, 
he becomes a nuisance to the neighbourhood, a re- 
ceiver of stolen goods, giver of love-potions, and 
deceiver of silly women ; the avowed enemy of law 
and order, of justices of the peace, head-boroughs, 
and gamekeepers. Such a man in fact as was 
recently caught tripping, and deservedly dealt with 
by the Leeds justices, for seducing a girl who had 
come to him to get back a faithless lover, and has 
been convicted of bigamy since then. Sometimes, 
however, they are of quite a different stamp, men 
who pretend to nothing, and are with difficulty per- 
suaded to exercise their occult arts in the simplest 
cases. 

Of this latter sort was old farmer Ives, as he was 
called, the “ wise man ” to whom Benjy resorted, 


56 


BENJY RESORTS TO A “WISE MAN.’ 


taking Tom with him as usual, in the early spring 
of the year next after the feast described in the last 
chapter. Why he was called farmer I cannot say, 
unless it be that he was the owner of a cow, a pig 
or two, and some poultry, which he maintained on 
about an acre of land enclosed from the middle of 
a wild common, on which probably his father had 
squatted before lords of manors looked as keenly 
after their rights as they do now. Here he had 
lived, no one knew how long, a solitary man. It 
was often rumoured that he was to be turned out, 
and his cottage pulled down, but somehow it never 
came to pass, and his pigs and cow went grazing 
on the common, and his geese hissed at the passing 
children, and at the heels of the horse of my lord’s 
steward, who often rode by with a covetous eye on 
the enclosure, still unmolested. His dwelling was 
some miles from our village ; so Benjy, who was 
half ashamed of his errand, and wholly unable to 
walk there, had to exercise much ingenuity to get 
the means of transporting himself and Tom thither 
without exciting suspicion. However, one fine May 
morning he managed to borrow the old blind pony 
of our friend the publican, and Tom persuaded 
Madam Brown to give him a holiday to spend with 
old . Benjy, and to lend them the Squire’s light cart, 
stored with bread and cold meat and a bottle of ale. 
And so the two in high glee started behind old Dob- 
bin, and jogged along the deep-rutted plashy roads, 
which had not been mended after their winter’s 
wear, towards the dwelling of the wizard. About 
noon they passed the gate which opened on to the 


57 


FARMER IYES THE “-WISE MAN.” 

large common, and old Dobbin toiled slowly up the 
hill, while Benjy pointed out a little deep dingle on 
the left, out of which welled a tiny stream. As they 
crept up the hill the tops of a few birch trees came 
in sight, and blue smoke curling up through their 
delicate light boughs ; and then the little white 
thatched home and patch of enclosed ground of 
farmer Ives, lying cradled in the dingle with the 
gay gorse common rising behind and on both sides, 
while in front, after traversing a gentle slope, the 
eye might travel for miles and miles over the rich 
vale. They now left the main road and struck into 
a green track over the common, marked lightly with 
wheel and horseshoe, which led down into the 
dingle, and stopped at the rough gate of farmer 
Ives. Here they found the farmer, an iron-gray old 
man, with a bushy eyebrow and strong aquiline 
nose, busied in one of his vocations. He was a 
horse and cow doctor, and was tending a sick beast 
which had been sent up to be cured. Benjy hailed 
him as an old friend, and he returned the greeting 
cordially enough, looking however hard for a- mo- 
ment both at Benjy and Torn, to see whether there 
was more in their visit than appeared at first sight. 
It was a work of some difficulty and danger for 
Benjy to reach the ground, which, however, he man- 
aged to do without mishap ; and then he devoted 
himself to unharnessing Dobbin, and turning him out 
for a graze (“ a run ” one could not say of that 
virtuous steed) on the common. This done, he 
extricated the cold provisions from the cart, and they 
entered the farmer’s wicket; and he, shutting up the 


58 


THE LEECH AND HIS PATIENT. 


knife with which he was taking maggots out of the 
cow’s back and sides, accompanied them towards 
the cottage. A big old lurcher got up slowly from, 
the door-stone, stretching first one hind leg and then 
the other, and taking Tom’s caresses and the pres- 
ence of Toby, who kept however at a respectful 
distance, with equal indifference. 

“ Us be cum to pay’e a visit. I’ve a been long 
minded to do’t for old sake’s sake, only I vinds I 
dvvont get about now as I’d used to’t. I be so 
plaguy bad wi’ th’ rumatiz in my back.’’ Benjy 
paused in hopes of drawing the farmer at once on 
the subject of his ailments without further direct 
application. 

“ Ah, I see as you bean’t quite so lissom as you 
was,” replied the farmer with a grim smile, as he 
lifted the latch of his door ; “ we bean’t so young as 
we was, nother on us, wuss luck.” 

The farmer’s cottage was very like those of the 
better class of peasantry in general. A snug chim- 
ney corner with two seats, and a small carpet on 
the hearth, an old flint gun and a pair of spurs ovei 
the fireplace, a dresser with shelves on which some 
bright pewter plates and crockeryware were ar- 
ranged, an old walnut table, a few chairs and set- 
tles, some framed samplers, and an old print or two, 
and a bookcase with some dozen volumes, on the 
walls, a rack with flitches of bacon, and other stores 
fastened to the ceiling, and you have the best part 
of the furniture. No sign of occult art is to be 
seen, unless the bundles of dried herbs hanging to 
the rack and in the ingle, and the row of labelled 
phials on one of the shelves, betoken it. 


THE WISE MAN’S SURROUNDINGS. 


59 


Tom played about with some kittens who occu- 
pied the hearth, and with a goat who walked de- 
murely in at the open door, while their host and 
Benjy spread the table for dinner, and was soon 
engaged in conflict with the cold meat to which he 
did much honour. The two old men’s talk was of old 
comrades and their deeds, mute inglorious Miltons 
of the Vale, and of the doings of thirty years back, 
which didn’t interest him much, except when they 
spoke of the making of the canal, and then indeed 
he began to listen with all his ears ; and learned to 
his no small wonder that his dear and wonderful 
canal had not been there always — was not in fact 
so old as Benjy or farmer Ives, which caused a 
strange commotion in his small brain. 

After dinner Benjy called attention to a wart 
which Tom had on his knuckles of his hand, and 
which the family doctor had been trying his skill on 
without success, and begged the farmer to charm it 
away. Farmer Ives looked at it, muttered some- 
thing or another over it, and cut some notches in a 
short stick, which he handed to Benjy, giving him 
instructions for cutting it down on certain days, and 
cautioning Tom not to meddle with the wart for a 
fortnight. And then they strolled out and sat on a 
bench in the sun with their pipes, and the pigs came 
up and grunted sociably and let Tom scratch them ; 
and the farmer seeing how he liked animals, stood 
up and held his arms in the air and gave a call, 
which brought a flock of pigeons wheeling and 
dashing through the birch trees. They settled down 
in clusters on the farmer’s arms and shoulders, mak- 


60 


WART-CHARMING AND BIRD-CHARMING. 


ing love to him and scrambling over one another’s 
backs to get to his face ; and then he threw them 
all off, and they fluttered about close by, and lighted 
on him again and again when he held up his arms. 
All the creatures about the place were clean and fear- 
less, quite unlike their relations elsewhere ; and Tom 
begged to be taught how to make all the pigs £.nd 
cows and poultry in our village tame, at which the 
farmer only gave one of his grim chuckles. 

It wasn’t till they were just ready to go, and old 
Dobbin was harnessed, that Benjy broached the 
subject of his rheumatism again, detailing his symp- 
toms one by one. Poor old boy ! He hoped the 
farmer could charm it away as easily as he could 
Tom’s wart, and was ready with equal faith to put 
another notched stick into his other pocket, for the 
cure of his own ailments. The physician shook 
his head, but nevertheless produced a bottle and 
handed it to Benjy with instructions for use. “ Not 
as ’t’ll do’e much good — leastways I be afeard not,” 
shading his eyes with his hand and looking up at 
them in the cart; “there’s only one thing as I 
knows on, as’ll cure old folk like you and I o’th’ 
rhumatis.” 

“ Wot be that then, farmer?” inquired Benjy. 

“Churchyard mould,” said the old iron-gray man 
with another chuckle. And so they said their good- 
byes and went their ways home. Tom’s wart was 
gone in a fortnight, but not so Benjy’s rheumatism, 
which laid him by the heels more and more. And 
though Tom still spent many an hour with him, as 
he sat on a bench in the sunshine, or by the chim- 


tom’s ALLIES JOB BUDKIN, JACOB DOODLE-CALF. 61 

ney corner when it was cold, he soon had to seek 
elsewhere for his regular companions. 

Tom had been accustomed often to accompany 
his mother in her visits to the cottages, and had 
thereby made acquaintance with many of the vil- 
lage boys of his own age. There was Job Rudkin, 
son of widow Rudkin, the most bustling woman in 
the parish. How she could ever have had such a 
stolid boy as Job for a child, must always remain a 
mystery. The first time Tom went to their cottage 
with his mother, Job was not in doors, but he en- 
tered soon after, and stood with both hands in his 
pockets staring at Tom. Widow Rudkin, who 
would have had to cross Madam to get at young 
Hopeful — a breach of good manners of which she 
was wholly incapable — began a series of pantomime 
signs, which only puzzled him, and at last, unable 
to contain herself longer, burst out with, “Job ! Job ! 
where’s thy cap ? ” 

“ What ! beant’e on ma’ head, mother ? ” replied 
Job, slowly extricating one hand from a pocket and 
feeling for the article in question ; which he found 
on his head sure enough, and left there, to his moth- 
er’s horror and Tom’s great delight. 

Then there was poor Jacob Dobson, the half-witted 
boy, who ambled about cheerfully, undertaking mes- 
sages and little helpful odds and ends for every one, 
which, however, poor Jacob managed always hope- 
lessly to embrangle. Every thing came to pieces in 
his hands, and nothing would stop in his head. They 
nicknamed him Jacob Doodle-calf. 

But, above all, there was Harry Winburn, the 


()2 HARRY WINBURN TORYISM OF SQUIRE BROWN. 

quickest and best boy in the parish. He might be 
a year older than Tom, but was very little bigger 
and he was the Crichton of our village boys. He 
could wrestle, and climb, and run, better than all 
the rest, and learned all that the schoolmaster could 
teach him faster than that worthy at all liked. He 
was a boy to be proud of, with his curly brown 
hair, keen gray eye, straight active figure, and little 
ears and hands and feet, “ as fine as a lord’s,” as 
Charity remarked to Tom one day, talking as usual 
great nonsense. Lord’s hands and ears and feet are 
just as ugly as other folks when they are children, as 
any one may convince themselves if they like to 
look. Tight boots and gloves, and doing nothing 
with them, I allow, make a difference by the time 
they are twenty. 

Now that Benjy was laid on the shelf, and his 
young brothers were still under petticoat govern- 
ment, Tom, in search of companions, began to cul- 
tivate the village boys generally more and more. 
Squire Brown, be it said, was a true-blue Tory to 
the backbone, and believed honestly that the pow- 
ers which be were ordained of God, and that loyalty 
and steadfast obedience were men’s first duties. 
Whether it were in consequence or in spite of his 
political creed, I do not mean to give an opinion, 
though I fiave one ; but certain it is, that he held 
therewith divers social principles not generally sup- 
posed to be true-blue in color. Foremost of these, 
and the one which the Squire loved to propound 
above all others, was the belief that a man is to be 
valued wholly and solely for that which he is ii. 


tom’s watch-tower by the school 


63 


himself, for that which stands up in the four fleshly 
walls of him, apart from clothes, rank, fortune, and 
all externals whatsoever. Which belief I take to 
be a wholesome corrective of all political opinions, 
and, if held sincerely, to make all opinions equally 
harmless, whether they be blue, red, or green. As a 
necessary corollary to this belief, Squire Brown held 
further, that it didn’t matter a straw whether his 
son associated with lords’ sons or ploughmen’s sons, 
provided they were brave and honest. He himself 
had played football and gone birds’-nesting with 
the farmers whom he met at vestry and the labour- 
ers who tilled their fields, and so had his father and 
grandfather with their progenitors. So he encour- 
aged Tom in his intimacy with the boys of the 
village, and forwarded it by all means in his power, 
and gave them the run of a close for a play -ground, 
and provided bats and balls and a football for their 
sports. 

Our village was blessed, amongst other things, 
with a well-endowed school. The building stood 
by itself, apart from the master’s house, on an angle 
of ground where three roads met ; an old gray stone 
building with a steep roof and mullioned windows. 
On one of the opposite angles stood Squire Brown’s 
stables and kennel with their backs to the road, 
over which towered a great elm tree ; on the third 
stood the village carpenter and wheelwright’s large 
open shop, and his house and the schoolmaster’s, 
with lonsr low eaves under which the swallows built 
by scores. 

The moment Tom’s lessons were over he would 


64 


tom’s FOES THE WHEELWRIGHT, ETC. 


no w get him down to this corner by the stables 
and watch till the boys came out of school. He 
prevailed on the groom to cut notches for him in 
the bark of the elm, so that he could climb into the 
lower branches, and there he would sit watching the 
school door, and speculating On the possibility of 
turning the elm into a dwelling-place for himself 
and friends, after the manner of the Swiss family 
Robinson. But the school hours were long, and 
Tom’s patience short, so that soon he began to 
descend into the street, and go and peep in at the 
school door and the wheelwright’s shop, and look 
out for something to while away the time. Now 
the wheelwright was a choleric man, and one fine 
afternoon, returning from a short absence, found 
Tom occupied with one of his pet adzes, the edge 
of which was fast vanishing under our hero’s care. 
A speedy flight saved Tom from all but one sound 
cuff on the ears, but he resented this unjustifiable 
interruption of his first essays at carpentering, and 
still more the further proceedings of the wheel- 
wright, who cut a switch and hung it over the door 
of his workshop, threatening to use it upon Tom if 
he came within twenty yards of his gate. So Tom, 
to retaliate, commenced a war upon the swallows 
who dwelt under the wheelwright’s eaves, whom he 
harassed with sticks and stones, and being fleeter 
of foot than his enemy, escaped all punishment, 
and kept him in perpetual anger. Moreover, his 
presence about the school door began to incense the 
master, as the boys in that neighbourhood neglected 
their lessons in consequence ; and more than once 


PERILS OP ALLIANCE. 


65 


he issued into the porch, rod in hand, just as Tom 
beat a hasty retreat. And he and the wheelwright 
laying their heads together, resolved to acquaint the 
Squire with Tom’s afternoon occupations; but in 
order to do it with effect, determined to take him 
captive and lead him away to judgment fresh from 
his evil doings. This they would have found some 
difficulty in doing had Tom continued the war 
single-handed, or rather single-footed, for he would 
have taken to the deepest part of Pebbly Brook to 
escape them ; but like other active powers, he was 
ruined by his alliances. Poor Jacob Doodle-calf 
could not go to school with the other boys, and one 
fine afternoon, about three o’clock (the school broke 
up at four), Tom found him ambling about the 
street, and pressed him into a visit to the school 
porch. Jacob, always ready to do what he was 
asked, consented, and the two stole down to the 
school together. Tom first reconnoitred the wheel- 
wright’s shop, and seeing no signs of activity, 
thought all safe in that quarter, and ordered at 
once an advance of all his troops upon the school 
porch. The door of the school was ajar, and the 
boys seated on the nearest bench at once recognized 
and opened a correspondence with the invaders. 
Tom, waxing bold, kept putting his head into the 
school and making faces at the master when his 
back was turned. Poor Jacob, not in the least 
comprehending the situation, and in high glee at 
finding himself so near the school, which he had 
never been allowed to enter, suddenly, in a fit of 
enthusiasm, pushed by Tom, and ambling three 


66 


DEFEAT, CAPTURE, PEACE. 


steps into the school, stood there looking round him 
and nodding with a self-approving smile. The 
master, who was stooping over a boy’s slate with 
his back to the door, became aware of something 
unusual, and turned quickly round. Tom rushed 
at Jacob, and began dragging him back by his 
smock-frock, and the master made at them, scatter- 
ing forms and boys in his career. Even now they 
might have escaped, but that in the porch, barring 
retreat, appeared the crafty wheelwright, who had 
been watching all their proceedings. So they were 
seized, the school dismissed, and Tom and Jacob 
led away to Squire Brown as lawful prize, the boys 
following to the gate in groups, and speculating on 
the result. 

The Squire was very angry at first, but the 
interview, by Tom’s pleading, ended in a compro- 
mise. Tom was not to go near the school till three 
o’clock, and only then if he had done his own 
lessons well, in which case he was to be the bearer 
of a note to the master from Squire Brown, and 
the master agreed in such case to release ten 
or twelve of the best boys an hour before the 
time of breaking up, to go off and play in the 
close. The wheelwright’s adzes and swallows 
were to be forever respected, and that hero and 
the master withdrew to the servants’ hall to drink 
the Squire’s health, well satisfied with their day’s 
work. 

The second act of Tom’s life may now be said 
to have begun. The war of independence had 
been over for some time : none of the women 


PLAY AND WORK. 


07 

now, not even his mother’s maid, dared offer to 
help him in dressing or washing. Between our- 
selves, he had often at first to run to Benjy in an 
unfinished state of toilet ; Charity and the rest of 
them seemed to take delight in putting impossi- 
ble buttons and ties in the middle of his back; 
but he would have gone without nether integu- 

ments altogether, sooner than have had recourse 
to female valeting. He had a room to himself, 
and his father gave him sixpence a-week pocket- 

money. All this he had achieved by Benjy’s ad- 
vice and assistance. But now he had conquered 

another step in life, the step which all real boys 
so long to make ; he had got amongst his equals 
in age and strength, and could measure himself 
with other boys ; he lived with those whose pursuits 
and wishes and ways were the same in kind as his 
own. 

The little governess who had lately been in- 
stalled in the house found her work grow won- 
drously easy, for Tom slaved at his lessons in 
order to make sure of his note to the schoolmas- 
ter. So there were very few days in the week in 
which Tom and the village boys were not playing 
in their close by three o’clock. Prisoner’s-base, 
rounders, high-cock-a-lorum, cricket, football, he 
was soon initiated into the delights of them all; 
and though most of the boys were older than him- 
self, he managed to hold his own very well. He 
was naturally active and strong y and quick of eye 
and hand, and had the advantage of light shoes 
and well-fitting dress, so that in a short time 


i 


68 


RIDING AND WRESTLING. 


he could run and jump and climb with any of 
them. 

They generally finished their regular games half- 
an-hour or so before tea-time, and then began trials 
of skill and strength in many ways. Some of them 
would catch the Shetland pony who was turned out 
in the field, and get two or three together on his 
back, and the little rogue, enjoying the fun, would 
gallop off for fifty yards and then turn round, or 
stop short and shoot them on to the turf, and then 
graze quietly on till he felt another load ; others 
played peg-top or marbles, while a few of the big- 
ger ones stood up for a bout at wrestling. Tom 
at first only looked on at this pastime, but it had 
peculiar attractions for him, and he could not long 
keep out of it. Elbow and collar wrestling as 
practised in the western counties was, next to 
backswording, the way to fame for the youth of 
the Vale; and all the boys knew the rules of it, 
and were more or less expert. But Job Budkin 
and Harry Winburn were the stars, the former 
stiff and sturdy, with legs like small towers, the 
latter pliant as india-rubber, and quick as light- 
ning. Day after day they stood foot to foot, and 
offered first one hand and then the other, and grap- 
pled and closed and swayed and strained, till a 
well-aimed crook of the heel or thrust of the loin 
took effect, and a fair back-fall ended the matter. 
And Tom watched with all his eyes, and first 
challenged one of the less scientific, and threw 
him; and so one by one wrestled his way up to 
the leaders. 


WRESTLING HARRY WINEURn’s FALL. 69 

Then indeed for months he had a poor time of 
it ; it was not long indeed before he could man- 
age to’ keep his legs against Job, for that hero 
was slow of offence, and gained his victories 
chiefly by allowing others to throw themselves 
against his immovable legs and loins. But Harry 
Winburn was undeniably his master; from the 
fust clutch of hands when they stood up, down 
to the last trip which sent him on to his back on 
the turf, he felt that Harry knew more and could 
do more than he. Luckily Harry’s bright uncon- 
sciousness, and Tom’s natural good temper, kept 
them from ever quarrelling; and so Tom worked 
on and on, and trod more and more nearly on 
Harry’s heels, and at last mastered all the dodges 
and falls except one. This one was Harry’s own 
particular invention and pet ; he scarcely ever used 
it except when hard pressed, but then out it came, 
and as sure as it did, over went poor Tom. He 
thought about that fall at his meals, in his walks, 
when he lay awake in bed, in his dreams, but all 
to no purpose ; until Harry one day in his open 
way suggested to him how he thought it should 
be met, and in a week from that time the boys 
were equal, save only the slight difference of 
strength in Harry’s favour, which some extra ten 
months of age gave. Tom had often afterwards 
reason to be thankful for that early drilling, and 
above all for having mastered Harry Winburn’s 
fall. 

Besides their home games, on Saturdays the 
boys would wander all over the neighbourhood ; 

7 * 


70 


EARLIEST PLAYMATES. 


sometimes to the downs, or up to the camp, where 
they cut their initials out in the springy turf, and 
watched the hawks soaring, and the “ peert ” bird, 
as Harry Winburn called the gray plover, gorgeous 
in his wedding feathers ; and so home, racing down 
the Manger with many a roll among the thistles, 
or through Uffington-wood to watch the fox-cub3 
playing in the green rides; sometimes to Rosy 
Brook, to cut long whispering reeds which grew 
there, to make pan-pipes of ; sometimes to Moor * 
Mills, where was a piece of old forest land, with 
short browsed turf and tufted brambly thickets 
stretching under the oaks, amongst which rumour 
declared that a raven, last of his race, still lin- 
gered; or to the sand hills, in vain quest of rab- 
bits ; and birds’-nesting in the season anywhere 
and everywhere. 

The few neighbours of the Squire’s own rank 
every now and then would shrug their shoulders, 
as they drove or rode by a party of the boys with 
Tom in the middle, carrying along bulrushes or 
whispering reeds, or great bundles of cowslip and 
meadow-sweet, or young starlings or magpies, or 
other spoil of wood, brook, or meadow ; and Law- 
yer Red-tape might mutter to Squire Straight-back 
at the Board, that no good would come of the 
young Browns, if they were let run wild with all 
the dirty village boys, whom the best farmers’ sons 
even would not play with. And the Squire might 
reply with a shake of his head, that his sons only 
mixed with their equals, and never went into the 
village without the governess or a footman. But 


FIRST SCHOOL. 


71 


luckily Squire Brown was full as stiff-backed as bis 
neighbours, and so went on his own way ; and 
Tom and his younger brothers, as they grew up, 
went on playing with the village boys without the 
idea of equality or inequality (except in wrestling, 
running, and climbing) ever entering their heads, as 
it doesn’t till it’s put there by Jack Nastys or fine 
ladies’ maids. 

I don’t mean to say it would be the case in all 
villages, but it certainly was so in this one; the 
village boys were full as manly and honest, and 
certainly purer, than those in a higher rank; and 
Tom got more harm from his equals in his first 
fortnight at a private school, where he went when 
he was nine years old, than he had from his vil- 
lage friends from the day he left Charity’s apron- 
strings. 

Great was the grief amongst the village school- 
boys, when Tom drove off with the Squire one 
August morning to meet the coach on his way to 
school. Each of them had given him some little 
present of the best that he had, and his small pri- 
vate box was full of peg-tops, white marbles, (called 
“alley taws” in the Vale,) screws, birds’ eggs, 
whipcord, jews-harps, and other miscellaneous boys’ 
wealth. Poor Jacob Doodle-calf, in floods of tears, 
had pressed upon him with spluttering earnestness 
his lame pet hedgehog, (he had always some poor 
broken-down beast or bird by him) ; but this Tom 
had been obliged to refuse by the Squire’s order. 
He had given them all a great tea under the big 
elm in their play-ground, for which Madam Brown 


72 


OF PKIVATE SCHOOLS. 


had supplied the biggest cake ever seen in our vil- 
lage ; and Tom was really as sorry to leave them as 
they to lose him, but his sorrow was not unmixed 
with the pride and excitement of making a new step 
in life. 

And this feeling carried him through his first 
parting with his mother better than could have 
been expected. Their love was as fair and whole 
as human love can be, perfect self-sacrifice on the 
one side meeting a young and true heart on the 
other. It is not within the scope of my book, how- 
ever, to speak of family relations, or I should have 
much to say on the subject of English mothers, — 
aye, and of English fathers, and sisters, and brothers, 
too. 

Neither have I room to speak of our private 
schools : what I have to say is about public schools, 
those much abused and much belauded institutions 
peculiar to England. So we must hurry through 
Master Tom’s year at a private school as fast as we 
can. 

It was a fair average specimen, kept by a gentle- 
man, with another gentleman as second master; 
but it was little enough of the real work they did, 
merely coming in to school when lessons were pre- 
pared and all ready to be heard. The whole disci- 
pline of the school out of lesson hours was in the 
hands of the two ushers, one of whom was always 
with the boys in their play-ground, in the school, at 
meals, in fact at all times and everywhere, till they 
were fairly in bed at night. 

Now the theory of private schools is (or was) 


THE USHERS. 


73 


constant supervision out of school ; therein differing 
fundamentally from that of public schools. 

It may be right or wrong, but if right, this super- 
vision surely ought to be the especial work of the 
head-master, the responsible person. The object of 
all schools is not to ram Latin and Greek into boys, 
but to make them good English boys, good future 
citizens ; and by far the most important part of that 
work must be done, or not done, out of school hours. 
To leave it therefore in the hands of inferior men, is 
just giving up the highest and hardest part of the 
work of education. Were I a private schoolmaster, 
I should say, let who will hear the boys their lessons, 
but let me live with them when they are at play and 
rest. 

The two ushers at Tom’s first school were not 
gentlemen, and very poorly educated, and were only 
driving their poor trade of usher to get such living 
as they could out of it. They were not bad men, 
but had lit tie heart for their work, and of course 
were bent on making it as easy as possible. One 
of the methods by which they endeavoured to ac- 
complish this, was by encouraging tale-bearing, 
which had become a frightfully common vice in the 
school in consequence, and had sapped all the foun- 
dations of school morality. Another was, by favour- 
ing grossly the biggest boys, who alone could have 
given them much trouble, whereby those young gen- 
tlemen became most abominable tyrants, oppressing 
the little boys in all the small mean ways which pre- 
vail in private schools. 

Poor little Tom was made dreadfully unhappy in 


74 HOW NOT TO SEAL A ' LETTER. 

4 

his first week, by a catastrophe which happened to 
his first letter home. With huge labour he had, on 
the very evening of his arrival, managed to fill two 
sides of a sheet of letter-paper with assurances of 
his love for dear mamma, his happiness at school, 
and his resolves to do all she would wish. This 
missive, with the help of the boy who sat at the 
desk next him, also a new arrival, he managed to 
fold successfully; but this done, they were sadly 
put to it for means of sealing. Envelopes were 
then unknown, they had no wax, and dared not 
disturb the stillness of the evening school-room by 
getting up and going to ask the usher for some. At 
length Tom’s friend, being of an ingenious turn of 
mind, suggested sealing with ink, and the letter was 
accordingly stuck down with a blob of ink, and 
duly handed by Tom on his way to bed to the 
housekeeper to be posted. It was not till four days 
afterwards that that good dame sent for him, and 
produced the precious letter, and some wax, saying, 
“ Oh, Master Brown, I forgot to tell you before, but 
your letter isn’t sealed.” Poor Tom took the wax 
in silence and sealed his letter, with a huge lump 
rising in his throat during the process, and then ran 
away to a quiet corner of the play-ground, and 
burst into an agony of tears. The idea of his 
mother waiting day after day for the letter he had 
promised her at once, and perhaps thinking him 
forgetful of her, when he had done all in his power 
to make good his promise, was as bitter a grief as 
any which he had to undergo for many a long year. 
His wrath then was proportionately violent when 


“ MAMMY-SICK ” AND ITS KESUETS. 


75 


he was aware of two boys, who stopped close by 
him, and one of whom, a fat gaby of a fellow, 
pointed at him and called him “ Young-mammy- 
sick.” Whereupon Tom arose, and giving vent 
thus to his grief and shame and rage, smote his 
derider on the nose, and made it bleed, which sent 
that young worthy howling to the usher, who re- 
ported Tom for violent and unprovoked assault 
and battery. Hitting in the face was a felony pun- 
ishable with flogging, other hitting only a misde- 
meanour — a distinction not altogether clear in 
principle. Tom, however, escaped the penalty by 
pleading “ primum tempus ; ” and having written a 
second letter to his mother enclosing some forget- 
me-nots, which he picked on their first half-holiday 
walk, felt quite happy again, and began to enjoy 
vastly a good deal of his new life. 

These half-holiday walks were the great events of 
the week. The whole fifty boys started after dinner 
with one of the ushers for Hazeldown, which was 
distant some mile or so from the school. Hazel- 
down measured some three miles round, and in the 
neighbourhood were several woods full of all man- 
ner of birds and butterflies. The usher walked 
slowly round the down with such boys as liked to 
accompany him ; the rest scattered in all directions, 
being only bound to appear again when the usher 
had completed his round, and accompany him home. 
They were forbidden, howefer, to go anywhere ex- 
cept on the down and into the woods, the village 
being especially prohibited, where huge bulls-eyes 
and unctuous toffy might be procured in exchange 
for coin of the realm. 


76 


THE AMUSEMENTS. 


Various were the amusements to which the boys 
then betook themselves. At the entrance of the 
down there was a steep hillock, like the barrows of 
Tom’s own downs. This mound was the weekly 
scene of terrific combats, at a game called by the 
queer name of “ mud-patties.” The boys who 
played divided into sides under different leaders, 
and one side occupied the mound. Then, all par- 
ties having provided themselves with many sods of 
turf, cut with their bread-and-cheese knives, the side 
which remained at the bottom proceeded to assault 
the mound, advancing up on all sides under cover 
of a heavy fire of turfs, and then struggling for 
victory with the occupants, which was theirs as 
soon as they could, even for a moment, clear the 
summit, when they in turn becajne the besieged. 
It was a good rough dirty game, and of great use 
in counteracting the sneaking tendencies of the 
school. Then others of the boys spread over the 
down, looking for the holes of humble-bees and 
mice, which they dug up without mercy, often (I 
regret to say) killing and skinning the unlucky 
mice, and (I do not regret to say) getting well 
stung by the humble-bees. Others went after but- 
terflies and birds’ eggs in their seasons ; and Tom 
found on Hazeldown for the first time the beautiful 
little blue butterfly, with golden spots on his wings, 
which he had never seen on his own downs, and 
dug out his first sand-martin’s nest. This latter 
achievement resulted in a flogging, for the sand- 
martins built in a high bank close to the village, 
consequently out of bounds ; but one of the bolder 


THE REPROBATE. 


77 


spirits of the school, who never could be happy un- 
less he was doing something to which risk attached, 
easily persuaded Tom to break bounds and visit the 
martins’ bank. From whence it being only a step 
to the toffy-shop, what could be more simple than 
to go on there and fill their pockets ; or what more 
certain than that on their return, a distribution fof 
treasure having been made, the usher should shortly 
detect the forbidden smell of bulls-eyes, and, a search 
ensuing, discover the state of the breeches-pockets of 
Tom and his ally ? 

This ally of Tom’s was indeed a desperate hero 
in the sight of the boys, and feared as one who 
dealt in magic or something approaching thereto. 
Which reputation came to him in this wise. The 
boys went to bed at eight, and of course conse- 
quently lay awake in the dark for an hour or two, 
telling ghost-stories by turns. One night, when it 
came to his turn, and he had dried up their souls by 
his story, he suddenly declared that he would make 
a fiery hand appear on the door ; and to the aston- 
ishment and terror of the boys in his room, a hand, 
or something like it, in pale light, did then and there 
appear. The fame of this exploit having spread to 
the other rooms, and being discredited there, the 
young necromancer declared that the same wonder 
would appear in all the rooms in turn, which it 
accordingly did ; and the whole circumstances hav- 
ing been privately reported to one of the ushers as 
usual, that functionary, after listening about at the 
doors of the rooms, by a sudden descent caught the 
performer in his night-shirt, with a box of phos- 


78 


TOM LEAVES HIS FIRST SCHOOL. 


phorus in his guilty hand. Lucifer-matches and all 
the present facilities for getting acquainted with fire 
were then unknown ; the very name of phosphorus 
had something diabolic in it to the boy-mind ; so 
Tom’s ally, at the cost of a sound flogging, earned 
what many older folk covet much, the most decided 
fear of most of his companions. He was a remark- 
able boy, and by no means a bad one. 

Tom stuck to him till he left, and got into many 
scrapes by so doing. But he was the great op- 
ponent of the tale-bearing habits of the school, and 
the open enemy of the ushers, and so worthy of 
all support. 

Tom imbibed a fair amount of Latin and Greek 
at the school, but somehow on the whole it didn’t 
suit him, or he it, and in the holidays he was con- 
stantly working the Squire to send him at once to 
a public school. Great was his joy then, when, in 
the middle of his third half-year in October, 183 
a fever broke out in the village, and the master 
having himself slightly sickened of it, the whole of 
the boys were sent off at a day’s notice to their 
respective homes. 

The Squire was not quite so pleased as Master 
Tom to see that young gentleman’s brown merry 
face appear at home, some two months before the 
proper time for Christmas holidays ; and so after 
putting on his thinking cap, he retired to his study 
and wrote several letters, the result of which was, 
that one morning at the breakfast-table, about a 
fortnight after Tom’s return, he addressed his wife 
with — “ My dear, I have arranged that Tom shall 


TOM PREPARES POR RUGBY. 


79 


go to Rugby at once, for the last six weeks of this 
half-year, instead of wasting them, riding and loiter- 
ing about home. It is very kind of the Doctor to 
allow it. Will you see that his things are all ready 
by Friday, when I shall take him up to town, and 
send him down the next day by himself.” 

Mrs. Brown was prepared for the announcement, 
and merely suggested a doubt whether Tom were 
yet old enough to travel by himself. However, find- 
ing both father and son against her on this point, 
she gave in like a wise woman, and proceeded to 
prepare Tom’s kit for his launch into a public 
school. 


CHAPTER IV. 


“ Let the steam-pot hiss till it’s hot, 

Give me the speed of the Tantivy trot.” 

Vulgar Coaching Song — Author unknown. 

“ Now, sir, time to get up, if you please. Tally- 
ho coach for Leicester ’ll be round in half-an-hour, 
and don’t wait for nobody.” So spake the Boots of 
the Peacock Inn, Islington, at half-past two o’clock 
on the morning of a day in the early part of Novem- 
ber, 183-, giving Tom at the same time a shake by 
the shoulder, and then putting down a candle and 
carrying off his shoes to clean. 

Tom and his father had arrived in town from 
Berkshire the day before, and finding on inquiry 
that the Birmingham coaches which ran from the 
city did not pass through Rugby, but deposited 
their passengers at D unchurch, a village three miles 
distant on the main road, where said passengers had 
to wait for the Oxford and Leicester coach in the 
evening, or to take a post-chaise, had resolved that 
Tom should travel down by the Tally-ho, which 
diverged from the main road and passed through 
Rugby itself. And as the Tally-ho was an early 
coach, they had driven out to the Peacock to be on 
the road. 

Tom had never been in London, and would have 
liked to have stopped at the Belle Savage, where 


THE PEACOCK, ISLINGTON. 


81 


they had been put down by the Star, just at dusk, 
that he might have gone roving about those endless, 
mysterious, gas-lit streets, which, with their glare 
and hum and moving crowds, excited him so that he 
couldn’t talk even. But as soon as he found that 
the Peacock arrangement would get him to Rugby 
by twelve o’clock in the day, whereas otherwise he 
wouldn’t be there till the evening, all other plans 
melted away ; his one absorbing aim being to be- 
come a public school-boy as fast as possible, and six 
hours sooner or later seeming to him of the most 
alarming importance. 

Tom and his father had. alighted at the Peacock 
at about seven in the evening, and having heard with 
unfeigned joy the paternal order at the bar of steaks 
and oyster-sauce for supper in half-an-hour, and seen 
his father seated cozily by the bright fire in the 
coffee-room, with the paper in his hand, Tom had 
run out to see about him, had wondered at all the 
vehicles passing and repassing, and had fraternized 
with the boots and ostler, from whom he ascertained 
that the Tally-ho was a tip-top goer, ten miles an 
hour including stoppages, and so punctual, that all 
the road set their clocks by her. 

Then being summoned to supper, he had regaled 
himself in one of the bright little boxes of the Pea- 
cock coffee-room, on the beefsteak and unlimited 
oyster-sauce, and brown stout, (tasted then for the 
first time — a day to be marked forever by Tom with 
a white stone) ; had at first attended to the excel- 
lent advice which his father was bestowing on him 
from over his glass of steaming brandy and water, 
8 * 


82 


SQUIRE BROWN’S PARTING WORDS. 


and then began nodding, from the united effects of 
the stout, the fire, and the lecture ; till the Squire 
observing Tom’s state, and remembering that it 
was nearly nine o’clock, and that the Tally-ho left 
at three, sent the little fellow off to the chamber- 
maid, with a shake of the hand (Tom having stipu- 
lated in the morning before starting, that kissing 
should now cease between them) and a few parting 
words. 

“ And now, Tom, my boy,” said the Squire, “ re- 
member you are going, at your own earnest request, 
to be chucked into this great school, like a young 
bear, with all your troubles before you — earlier than 
we should have sent you perhaps. If schools are 
what they were in my time, you’ll see a great many 
cruel blackguard things done, and hear a deal of foul 
bad talk. But never fear. You tell the truth, keep 
a brave and kind heart, and never listen to or say any 
thing you wouldn’t have your mother and sister hear, 
and you’ll never feel ashamed to come home, or we 
to see you.” 

The allusion to his mother made Tom feel rather 
chokey, and he would have liked to have hugged 
his father well, if it hadn’t been for the recent stipu- 
lation. 

As it was, he only squeezed his father’s hand, and 
looked bravely up and said, “ I’ll try, father.” 

“ I know you will, my boy. Is your money all 
safe ? ” 

“ Yes,” said Tom, diving into one pocket to make 
sure. 

“ And your keys ? ” said the Squire. 


EFFECT OF THE SQUIRE’S WORDS. 


83 


“ All right,” said Tom, diving into the other 
pocket. 

“ Well then, good-night. God bless you! I’ll tell 
Boots to call you, and be up to see you off.” 

Tom was carried off by the chambermaid in a 
brown study, from which he was roused in a clean 
little attic, by that buxom person calling him a little 
darling, and kissing him as she left the room ; 
which indignity he was too much surprised to 
resent. And still thinking of his father’s last words, 
and the look with which they were spoken, he knelt 
down and prayed, that come what might, he might 
never bring shame or sorrow on the dear folk at 
home. 

Indeed the Squire’s last words deserved to have 
their effect, for they had been the result of much 
anxious thought. All the way up to London he 
had pondered what he should say to Tom by way 
of parting advice, something that the boy could 
keep in his head ready for use. By way of assist- 
ing meditation, he had even gone the length of 
taking out his flint and steel, and tinder, and ham- 
mering away for a quarter of an hour till he had 
manufactured a light for a long Trinchinopoli che- 
root, which he silently puffed, to the no small 
wonder of Coachee, who was an old friend, and an 
institution on the Bath road ; and who always ex- 
pected a talk on the prospects and doings, agricultural 
and social, of the whole county, when he carried the 
Squire. 

To condense the Squire’s meditation it was 
somewhat as follows : “ I won’t tell him to read his 


84 


THE SQUIRE’S MEDITATIONS. 


Bible, and love and serve God ; if he don’t do that 
for his mother’s sake and teaching, he won’t for 
mine. Shall I go into the sort of temptations he’ll 
meet with ? No, I can’t do that. Never do for an 
old fellow to go into such things with a boy. He 
won’t understand me. Do him more harm than 
good, ten to one. Shall I tell him to mind his 
work and say he’s sent to school to make himself a 
good scholar? Well, but he isn’ t sent to school for 
that — at any rate not for that mainly. 1 don’t care 
a straw for Greek particles, or the digamma, no 
more does his mother. What is he sent to school 
for? Well, partly because he wanted so to go. If 
he’ll only turn out a brave, helpful, truth-telling 
Englishman, and a gentleman, and a Christian, 
that’s all I want,” thought the Squire ; and upon 
this view of the case framed his last words of 
advice to Tom, which were well enough suited to 
his purpose. 

For they were Tom’s first thoughts as he tumbled 
out of bed at the summons of Boots, and proceeded 
rapidly to wash and dress himself. At ten minutes 
to three he was down in the coffee-room in his 
stockings, carrying his hat-box, coat, and comforter 
in his hand ; and there he found his father nursing 
a bright fire, and a cup of hot coffee and a hard bis- 
cuit on the table. 

“ Now, then, Tom, give us your things here, and 
drink that ; there’s nothing like starting warm, old 
fellow.” 

Tom addressed himself to the coffee, and prattled 
away while he worked himself into his shoes and his 


85 


THE “ TALLY-HO.” 

great-coat, well warmed through ; a Petersham coat 
with velvet collar, made tight after the abominable 
fashion of those days. And just as he is swallowing 
his last mouthful, winding his comforter round his 
throat, and tucking the ends into the breast of his 
coat, the horn sounds, Boots looks in and says, 
“ Tally-ho, sir ; ” and they hear the ring an^the rat- 
tle of the four fast trotters and the town-mefcie drag, 
as it dashes up to the Peacock. 

“ Any thing for us, Bob ? ” says the burly guard, 
dropping down from behind, and slapping himself 
across the chest. 

“ Young genl’m’n, Rugby; three parcels, Leicester; 
hamper o’ game, Rugby,” answers Ostler. 

“ Tell young gent to look alive,” says Guard, 
opening the hind-boot and shooting in the parcels 
after examining them by the lamps. “ Here, shove 
the portmanteau up a-top — I’ll fasten him presently. 
Now then, sir, jump up behind.” 

“ Good-bye, father — my love at home.” A last 
shake of the hand. Up goes Tom, the guard catch- 
ing his hatbox and holding on with one hand, while 
with the other he claps the horn to his mouth. 
Toot, toot, toot ! the ostler lets go their heads, the 
four bays plunge at the collar, and away goes the 
Tally-ho into the darkness, forty-five seconds from the 
time they pulled up ; Ostler, Boots, and the Squire 
stand looking after them under the Peacock lamp. 

“ Sharp work,” says the Squire, and goes in again 
to his bed, the coach being well out of sight and 
hearing. 

Tom stands up on the coach and looks back at 


86 


DEGENERACY OF THESE DAYS. 


his father’s figure as long as he can see it, and then 
the guard having disposed of his luggage comes to 
an anchor, and finishes his buttonings and other 
preparations for facing the three hours before 
dawn ; no joke for those who minded cold, on a 
fast coach in November, in the reign of his late Ma- 
jesty. 

I sometimes think that you boys of this genera- 
tion are a deal tenderer fellows than we used to be. 
At any rate you’re much more comfortable travel- 
lers, for I see every one of you with his rug or plaid, 
and other dodges for preserving the caloric, and 
most of you going in those fuzzy, dusty, padded 
first-class carriages. It was another affair altogether, 
a dark ride on the top of the Tally-ho, I can tell 
you, in a tight Petersham coat, and your feet dang- 
ling six inches from the floor. Then you knew 
what cold was, and what it was to be without legs, 
for not a bit of feeling had you in them after the 
first half-hour. But it had its pleasures, the old dark 
ride. First there was the consciousness of silent 
endurance, so dear to every Englishman, — of stand- 
ing out against something, and not giving in. Then 
there was the music of the rattling harness, and the 
ring of the horses’ feet on the hard road, and the 
glare of the two bright lamps through the steaming 
hoar-frost over the leaders’ ears into the darkness ; 
and the cheery toot of the guard’s horn, to warn 
some drowsy pikeman or the ostler at the next 
change; and the looking forward to daylight, and 
last but not least, the delight of returning sensation 
in your toes. 


A NOVEMBER RIDE IN OLD TIME. 


87 


Then the break of dawn and the sunrise, where 
can they be ever seen in perfection but from a coach 
roof? You want motion and change and music to 
see them in their glory; not the music of singing-men 
and singing- women, but good silent music, which 
sets itself in your own head, the accompaniment of 
work and getting over the ground. 

The Tally-ho is past St. Alban’s, and Tom is en- 
joying the ride though half-frozen. The guard, who 
is alone with him on the back of the coach, is silent, 
but has muffled Tom’s feet up in straw, and put 
the end of an oat-sack over his knees. The dark- 
ness has driven him inwards, and he has gone over 
his little past life, and thought of all his doings and 
promises, and of his mother and sister, and his 
father’s last words ; and has made fifty good reso- 
lutions, and means to bear himself like a brave 
Brown as he is, though a young one. Then he has 
been forward into the mysterious boy-future, spec- 
ulating as to what sort of a place Rugby is, and 
what they do there, and calling up all the stories 
of public schools which he has heard from big boys 
in the holidays. He is chock full of hope and life, 
notwithstanding the cold, and kicks his heels against 
the backboard, and would like to sing, only he 
doesn’t know how his friend, the silent guard, might 
take it. 

• And now the dawn breaks at the end of the 
fourth stage, and the coach pulls up at a little road- 
side inn with huge stables behind. There is a 
bright fire gleaming through the red curtains of the 
bar window, and the door is open. The coachman 


88 


puilfcmG up. 


catches his whip into a double thong, and throws it 
to the ostler; the steam of the horses rises straight 
up into the air. He has put them along over the 
last two miles, and is two minutes before his time : 
he rolls down from the box and into the inn. The 
guard rolls off behind. “ Now, sir,” says he to Tom, 
“you just jump down, and I’ll give you a drop of 
something to keep the cold out.” 

Tom finds a difficulty in jumping, or indeed in 
finding the top of the wheel with his feet, which 
may be in the next world for all he feels; so the 
guard picks him off the coach-top and sets him on 
his legs, and they stump off into the bar, and join the 
coachman and the other outside passengers. 

Here a fresh-looking barmaid serves them each 
with a glass of early purl as they stand before 
the fire, coachman and guard exchanging business 
remarks. The purl warms the cockles of Tom’s 
heart and makes him cough. 

“Rare tackle that, sir, of a cold morning,” says 
the coachman, smiling; “Time’s up.” They are 
out again and up ; Coachee the last, gathering 
the reins into his hands and talking to Jem the 
ostlei about the mare’s shoulder, and then swing- 
ing himself up on to the box, the horses dashing 
oft' in a canter before he falls into his seat. Toot- 
toot-tootle-too goes the horn, and away they are 
again, five-and-thirty miles on their road, (nearly 
half-way to Rugby, thinks Tom,) and the prospect 
of breakfast at the end of the stage. 

And now they begin to see, and the early life 
of the country-side comes out; a market cart or 


MORNING SIGHTS AND DOINGS. 


89 


two, men in smock-frocks going to their work, 
pipe in mouth, a whiff of which is no bad smell 
this bright morning. The sun gets up and the 
mist shines like silver gauze. They pass the 
hounds jogging along to a* distant meet at the 
heels of the huntsman’s hack, whose face is about 
the colour of the tails of his old pink, as he ex- 
changes greetings with coachman and guard. Now 
they pull up at a lodge, and take on board a 
well muffled-up sportsman, with his gun-case and 
carpet-bag. An early up-coach meets them, and 
the coachmen gather up their horses, and pass one 
another with the accustomed lift of the elbow, 
each team doing eleven miles an hour, with a mile 
to spare behind if necessary. And here comes 
breakfast. 

“ Twenty minutes here, gentlemen,” says the 
coachman, as they pull up at half-past seven at 
the inn-door. 

Have not we endured nobly this morning, and 
is not this a worthy reward for much endurance? 
There is the low dark wainscoted room hung with 
sporting prints ; the hat-stand, with a whip or two 
standing up in it belonging to bagmen, who are 
still snug in bed, by the door; the blazing fire, 
with the quaint old glass over the mantel-piece, in 
which is stuck a large card with the list of the 
meets for the week of the county hounds. The 
table covered with the whitest of cloths and of 
china, and bearing a pigeon-pie, ham, round of cold 
boiled beef cut from a mammoth ox, and the great 
loaf, of household bread on a wooden trencher. 

9 


90 


BREAKFAST. 


And here comes in the stout head waiter, puffing 
under a tray of hot viands ; kidneys and a steak 
transparent rashers and poached eggs, buttered 
toast and muffins, coffee and tea, all smoking 
hot. The table can # never hold it all; the cold 
meats are removed to the sideboard, they were 
only put on for show, and to give us an appetite. 
And now fall on, gentlemen all. It is a well- 
known sporting-house, and the breakfasts are fa- 
mous. Two or three men in pink, on their way 
'to the meet, drop in, and are very jovial and 
sharp-set, as indeed we all are. 

“Tea or coffee, sir?” says head waiter, coming 
round to Tom. 

“ Coffee, please,” says Tom, with his mouth full 
of muffin and kidney; coffee is a treat to him, tea 
is not. 

Our coachman, I perceive, who breakfasts with 
us, is a cold-beef man. He also eschews hot 
potations, and addicts himself to a tankard of ale, 
which is brought him by the barmaid. Sports- 
man looks on approvingly, and orders a ditto for 
himself. 

Tom has eaten kidney and pigeon-pie, and im- 
bibed coffee, till his little skin is as tight as a 
drum; and then has the further pleasure of pay- 
ing head waiter out of his own purse, in a digni- 
fied manner, and walks out before the inn-door to 
see the horses put to. This is done leisurely and 
in a highly finished manner by the ostlers, as if 
they enjoyed the not being hurried. Coachman 
comes out with his way-bill, and puffing a fat 


PUTTING-TO AGAIN. 


91 


cigar wnich the sportsman has given him. Guard 
emerges from the tap, where he prefers breakfast- 
ing, licking round a tough-looking doubtful cheroot, 
which you might tie round your finger, and three 
whiffs of which would knock any one else out of 
time. 

The pinks stand about the inn-door lighting 
cigars and waiting to see us start, while their 
hacks are led up and down the market-place on 
which the inn looks. They all know our sports- 
man, and we feel a reflected credit when we see 
him chatting and laughing with them. 

“ Now, sir, please,” says the coachman. All the 
rest of the passengers are up, the guard is locking 
the hind boot. 

“ A good run to you,” says the sportsman to 
the pinks, and is by the coachman’s side in no 
time. 

“Let ’em go, Dick!” The ostlers fly back, 
drawing off the cloths from their glossy loins, and 
away we go through the market-place and down 
the High street, looking in at the first-floor win- 
dows, and seeing several worthy burgesses shaving 
thereat, while all the shop-boys who are cleaning 
the windows, and housemaids who are doing the 
steps, stop and look pleased as we rattle past, as 
if it were a part of their legitimate morning’s amuse- 
ment. We clear the town, and are well out 
between the hedgerows again as the town clock 
strikes eight. 

The sun shines almost warmly, and breakfast 
has oiled all springs and loosened all tongues. 


92 * 


GUARD DISCOURSES ON RUGBY. 


Tom is encouraged by a remark or two of the 
guard’s, between the puffs of his oily cheroot, and 
besides is getting tired of not talking. He is too full 
of his destination to talk about anything else, and so 
asks the guard if he knows Rugby. 

“ Goes through it every day of my life. Twenty 
minutes afore twelve down, ten o’clock up.” 

“ What sort of a place is it, please ? ” says Tom. 

Guard looks at him with a comical expression. 
“ Werry out-o’-the-way place, sir ; no paving to 
streets, nor no lighting. ’Mazin’ big horse and cattle 
fair in autumn — lasts a week — just over now. 
Takes town a week to get clean after it. Fairish 
hunting country. But slow place, sir, slow place : 
off the main road you see — only three coaches 
a-day, and one on ’em a two-oss wan, more like 
a hearse nor a coach. Regulator comes from Ox- 
ford. Young genl’m’n at school calls him Pig and 
Whistle, and goes up to college by him (six miles 
an hour) when they goes to enter. Belong to 
school, sir ? ” 

“ Yes,” says Tom, not unwilling for a moment 
that the guard should think him an old boy. But 
then, having some qualms as to the truth of the 
assertion, and seeing that if he were to assume the 
character of an old boy he couldn’t go on asking 
the questions he wanted, added — “ that is to say, 
I’m on my way there. I’m a new boy.” 

The guard looked as if he knew this quite as well 
as Tom. 

“ You’re werry late, sir,” says the guard ; “ ony 
six weeks to-day to the end of the half.” Tom 


THE “PIG AND WHISTLE” PEA-SHOOTERS. 93 

assented. “ We takes up fine loads this day six 
weeks, and Monday and Tuesday arter. Hope we 
shall have the pleasure of carrying you back.” 

Tom said he hoped they would, but he thought 
within himself that his fate would probably be the 
Pig and Whistle. 

44 It pays uncommon, cert’nly,” continues the 
guard. 44 Werry free with their cash is the young 
genl’m’n. But, Lor’ bless you, we gets into such 
rows all ’long the road, what wi’ their pea-shooters, 
and long whips, and hollering, and upsetting every 
one as comes by ; I’d a sight sooner carry one or 
two on ’em, sir, as I may be a carryin’ of you now, 
than a coach-load.” 

44 What do they do with the pea-shooters ? ” in- 
quires Tom. 

“ Do wi’ ’em ! why, peppers every one’s faces as 
we comes near, ’cept the young gals, and breaks 
windows wi’ them too, some on ’em shoots so hard. 
Now ’twas just here last June, as we was a-driving 
up the first-day boys, they was mendin’ a quarter- 
mile of road, and there was a lot of Irish chaps, 
reg’lar roughs, a breaking stones. As we came up, 
4 Now, boys,’ says young gent on the box, (smart 
young fellow and despret reckless,) 4 here’s fun ! let 
the Pats have it about the ears.’ 4 God’s sake, sir ! ’ 
says Bob, (that’s my mate the coachman,) 4 don’t go 
for to shoot at ’em, they’ll knock ms off the coach.’ 

4 Damme, Coachee,’ says young my lord, 4 you ain’t 
afraid ; hoora, boys ! let ’em have it.’ 4 Hoora ! ’ 
sings out the others, and fills their mouths chock 
full of peas to last the whole line. Bob seeing as 


94 


BATTLE WITH THE PATS. 


’twas to come, knocks his hat over his eyes, hollers 
to his ’osses, and shakes ’em up, and away we goes 
up to the line on ’em, twenty miles an hour. The 
Pats begins to hoora too, thinking it was a runa- 
way, and first lot on ’em stands grinnin’ and wavin’ 
their old hats as we comes abreast on ’em ; and 
then you’d ha’ laughed to see how took aback and 
shoking savage they looked, when they gets the 
peas a stinging all over ’em. But bless you, the 
laugh weren’t all of our side, sir, by a long way. 
We was going so fast, and they was so took aback, 
that they didn’t take what was up till we was half- 
way up the line. Then ’twas look out all surely. 
They howls all down the line fit to frighten you, 
some on ’em runs arter us and tries to clamber up 
behind, only we hits ’em over the fingers and pulls 
their hands off ; one as had had it very sharp act’ly 
runs right at the leaders, as though he’d ketch ’em 
by the heads, ony luck’ly for him he misses his tip, 
and comes over a heap o’ stones first. The rest 
picks up stones, and gives it us right away till we 
gets out of shot, the young gents holding out werry 
manful with the pea-shooters and such stones as 
lodged on us, and a pretty many there was too. 
Then Bob picks hisself up again, and looks at 
young gent on box werry solemn. Bob ’d had a 
rum un in the ribs, which ’d like to ha’ knocked 
him off the box, or made him drop the reins. Young 
gent on box picks hisself up, and so does we all, 
and looks round to count damage. Box’s head cut 
open and his hat gone ; another young gent’s hat 
gone ; mine knocked in at the side, and not one on 


THE OLD YEOMAN. 


95 


us as wasn’t black and blue someweres or another 
most on ’em all over. Two-pound-ten to pay for 
damage to paint, which they subscribed for there 
and then, and give Bob and me a extra half- 
sovereign each ; but I wouldn’t go down that line 
again not for twenty half-sovereigns.” And the 
guard shook his head slowly, and got up and blew 
a clear brisk toot, toot. 

“ What fun ! ” said Tom, who could scarcely con- 
tain his pride at this exploit of his future school- 
fellow^. He longed already for the end of the half 
that he might join them. 

“’Taint such good dun though, sir, for the folk 
as meets the coach, nor for we who has to go back 
with it next day. Them Irishers last summer had 
all got stones ready for us, and was all but letting 
drive, and we’d got two reverend gents aboard too. 
We pulled up at the beginning of the line, and 
pacified them, and we’re never going to carry no 
more pea-shooters, unless they promises not to fire 
where there’s a line of Irish chaps a stone break- 
ing.” The guard stopped and pulled away at his 
cheroot, regarding Tom benignantly the while. 

“ Oh, don’t stop ! tell us something more about 
the pea-shooting.” 

“ Well, there’d like to have been a pretty piece of 
work over at Bicester, a while back. We was six 
mile from the town, when we meets an old square- 
headed, gray-haired yeoman chap, a jogging along 
quite quiet. He looks up at the coach, and just then 
a pea hits him on the nose, and some catches his cob 
behind and makes him dance up on his hind legs. 


96 


all's well that ends well. 


I see’d the old boy’s face flush and look plaguy awk- 
ward, and I thought we was in for somethin’ nasty. 
He turns his cob’s head, and rides quietly after 
us just out of shot. How that ere cob did step ! 
we never shook him off not a dozen yards in the six 
miles. At first the young gents was werry lively on 
him ; but afore we got in, seeing how steady the old 
chap come on, they was quite quiet, and laid their 
heads together what they should do. Some was for 
fighting, some for axing his pardon. He rides into 
the town close after us, comes up when we stops, 
and says, the two that shot at him must come before 
a magistrate ; and a great crowd comes round, and 
we couldn’t get the osses to. But the young uns 
they all stands by one another, and says all or none 
must go, and as how they’d fight it out, and have to 
be carried. Just as ; twas gettin’ serious, and the old 
boy and the mob was going to pull ’em off the coach, 
one little fellow jumps up and says, ‘Here, — I’ll 
stay — I’m only going three miles further. My 
father’s name’s Davis, he's known about here, and 
I’ll go before the magistrate with this gentleman.’ 
‘ What ! be thee Parson Davis’ son ? ’ says the old 
boy. 4 Yes,’ says the young un. 4 Well, I be mortal 
sorry to meet thee in such company, but for thy 
father’s sake and thine, (for thee bi’st a brave young 
chap,) I’ll say no more about it.’ Didn’t the boys 
cheer him, and the mob cheered the young chap — 
an,d then one of the biggest gets down, and begs his 
pardon werry gentlemanly for all the rest, saying as 
they all had been plaguy vexed from the first, but 
didn’t like to ax his pardon till then, ’cause they felt 


BLOW- HA. RD AND HIS YARNS. 


97 


they hadn’t ought to shirk the consequences of their 
joke. And then they all got down, and shook hands 
with the old boy, and asked him to all parts of the 
country, to their homes, and we drives off twenty 
minutes behind time, with cheering and hollering as 
if we was county members. But, ’Lor bless you, 
sir,” says the guard, smacking his hand down on his 
knee and looking full into Tom’s face, “ ten minutes 
after they was all as bad as ever.” 

Tom showed such undisguised and open-mouthed 
interest in his narrations, that the old guard rubbed 
up his memory, and launched out into a graphic 
history of all the performances of the boys on the 
road for the last twenty years. Off the road he 
couldn’t go, the exploit must have been connected 
with horses or vehicles to hang in the old fellow’s 
head. Tom tried him off his own ground once or 
twice, but found he knew nothing beyond, and so let 
him have his head, and the rest of the road bowled 
easily away ; for old Blow-hard (as the boys called 
him) was a dry old file, with much kindness and hu- 
mour, and a capital spinner of a yarn when he had 
broken the neck of his day’s work, and got plenty of 
ale under his belt. 

What struck Tom’s youthful imagination most, 
was the desperate and lawless character of most of 
the stories. Was the guard hoaxing him ? He 
couldn’t help hoping that they were true. It’s very 
odd how almost all English boys love danger ; you 
can get ten to join a game, or climb a tree, or swim 
a stream, when there’s a chance of breaking their 
limbs or getting drowned, for one who’ll stay on 


98 


THE RUNNERS. 


level ground, or in his depth, or play quoits 01 
bowls. 

The guard had just finished an account of a des- 
perate fight which had happened at one of the fairs 
between the drovers and the farmers with their whips, 
and the boys with cricket-bats and wickets, which 
arose out of a playful but objectionable practice of 
the boys of going round to the public-houses, and 
taking the lynch-pins out of the wheels of the gigs, 
and was moralizing upon the way in which the 
Doctor, “ a terrible stern man he’d heard tell,” had 
come down upon several of the performers, “ sending 
three on ’em off next morning, each in a po-chay 
with a parish constable,” when they turned a corner 
and neared the mile-stone, the third from Rugby. 
By the stone two boys stood, their jackets buttoned 
tight, waiting for the coach. 

“ Look here, sir,” says the guard, after giving a 
sharp toot-toot, “ there’s two on ’em, out-and-out 
runners they be. They comes out about twice or 
three times a-week, and spirts a mile alongside of 
us.” 

And as they came up, sure enough, away went 
the two boys along the footpath, keeping up with 
the horses ; the first a light clean-made fellow going 
on springs, the other stout and round-shouldered, 
labouring in his pace, but going as dogged as a bull- 
terrier. 

Old Blow-hard looked on admiringly. “ See how 
beautiful that there un holds hisself together, and 
goes from his hips, sir,” said he ; “ he’s a’ mazin’ fine 
runner. Now many coachmen as drives a first-rate 


tom’s first sight of rugby. 


99 


team’d put it on, and try and pass ’em. But Bob, 
sir, bless you, he’s tender-hearted ; he’d sooner pull in 
a bit if he see’d ’em a gettin’ beat. I do b’lieve too 
as that there un’d sooner break his heart than let us 
go by him afore next mile-stone.” 

At the second mile-stone the boys pulled up short, 
and waved their hats to the guard, who had his 
watch out and shouted, 4.56, thereby indicating that 
the mile had been done in four seconds under the 
five minutes. They passed several more parties of 
boys, all of them objects of the deepest interest to 
Tom, and came in sight of the town at ten minutes 
before twelve. Tom fetched a long breath, and 
thought he had never spent a pleasanter day. Be- 
fore he went to bed he had quite settled that it 
must be the greatest day he should ever spend, and 
didn’t alter his opinion for many a long year, if he 
has yet. 


CHAPTER V. 


RUGBY AND FOOTBALL. 

“ Foot and eye opposed 

In dubious strife. 

Scott. 

“ And so here’s Rugby, sir, at last, and you’ll 
be in plenty of time for dinner at the school- 
house, as I tell’d you,” said the old guard, pull- 
ing his horn out of its case, and tootle-tooing 
away; while the coachman shook up his horses, 
and carried them along side of the school-close, 
round Dead-man’s corner, past the school-gates, 
and down the High street, to the Spread Eagle; 
the wheelers in a spanking trot, and leaders can- 
tering, in a style which would not have disgraced 
“ Cherry Bob,” “ ramping, stamping, tearing, swear- 
ing Billy Harwood,” or any other of the old coaching 
heroes. 

Tom’s heart beat quick as he passed the great 
school-field or close, with its noble elms, in which 
several games at football were going on, and tried 
to take in at once the long line of gray buildings, 
beginning with the chapel, and ending with the 
school-house, the residence of the head-master, 
where the great flag was lazily waving from the 
highest round tower. And he began already to 


TOM FINDS A PATRON. 


101 


be proud of being a Rugby boy, as he passed the 
school-gates, with the oriel window above, and 
saw the boys standing there, looking as if the 
town belonged to them ; and nodding in a famil- 
iar manner to the coachman, as if any one of 
them would be quite equal to getting on the 
box, and working the team down street as well 
as he. 

One of the young heroes, however, ran out from 
the rest, and scrambled up behind; where, having 
righted himself, and nodded to the guard, with 
“How do, Jem?” he turned short round to Tom, 
and, after looking him over for a minute, be- 
gan— 

“ I say, you fellow, is your name Brown ? ” 

“ Yes,” said Tom, in considerable astonishment; 
glad, however, to have lighted on some one already 
who seemed to know him. 

“ Ah, I thought so ; you know my old aunt, Miss 
East ; she lives somewhere down your way in Berk- 
shire. She wrote to me that you were coming to- 
day, and asked me to give you a lift.” 

Tom was somewhat inclined to resent the pat- 
ronizing air of his new friend, a boy of just about 
his own height and age, but gifted with the most 
transcendent coolness and assurance, which Tom 
felt to be aggravating and hard to bear, but couldn’t 
for the life of him help admiring and envying — 
especially when young my lord begins hectoring 
two. or three long loafing fellows, half porter, half 
stable-men, with a strong touch of the blackguard, 
and in the end arranges with one of them, nicknamed 
10 


J02 


AESTHETICS OF “ ROOFING.” 

Cooey, to carry Tom’s luggage up to the school- 
house for sixpence. 

“ And heark’ee, Cooey, it must be up in ten 
minutes, or no more jobs from me. Come along, 
Brown.” And away swaggers the young potentate, 
with his hands in his pockets, and Tom at his 
side. 

“ All right, sir,” says Cooey, touching his hat, with 
a leer and a wink at his comrades. 

“ Hullo tho’,” says East, pulling up, and taking 
another look at Tom, “ this ’ll never do — haven’t you 
got a hat? we never wear caps here. Only the 
louts wear caps. Bless you, if you were to go into 

the quadrangle with that thing on, I don’t 

know what’d happen.” The very idea was quite 
beyond young Master East, and he looked unuttera- 
ble things. 

' Tom thought his cap a very knowing affair, but 
confessed that he had a hat in his hat-box ; which 
was accordingly at once extracted from the hind 
boot, and Tom equipped in his go-to-meeting roof, 
4 as his new friend called it. But this didn’t quite 
suit his fastidious taste in another minute, being 
too shiny ; so, as they walk up the town, they dive 
into Nixon’s the hatter’s, and Tom is arrayed, to 
his utter astonishment, and without paying for it, in 
a regulation cat-skin at seven-and-sixpence ; Nixon 
undertaking to send the best hat up to the matron’s 
room, school-house, in half-an-hour. 

“ You can send in a note for a tile on Monday, 
and make it all right, you know,” said Mrntor; 
“ we’re allowed two seven-and-sixers a half, besides 
what we bring from home.” 




MENTOR EAST AND HIS MOTIVES. 


103 


Tom by this time began to be conscious of his new 
social position and dignities, and to luxuriate in the 
realized ambition of being a public school-boy at last, 
with a vested right of spoiling two seven-and-sixers 
in half a year. 

“ You see,” said his friend, as they strolled up to- 
wards the school-gates, in explanation of his conduct, 
“ a great deal depends on how a fellow cuts up at 
first. If he’s got nothing odd about him, and answers 
straightforward, and holds his head up, he gets on. 
Now you’ll do very well as to rig, all but that 
cap. You see I’m doing the handsome thing by 
you, because my father knows yours : besides, I 
want to please the old lady. She gave me half-a-sov 
this half, and perhaps ’ll double it next, if I keep in 
her good books.” 

There’s nothing for candour like a lower school- 
boy, and East was a genuine specimen. Frank, 
hearty, and good-natured, well satisfied with himself 
and his position, and chock full of life and spirits, 
and all the Rugby prejudices and traditions w 7 hich he 
had been able to get together, in the long course of 
one half year, during which he had been at the 
school-house. 

And Tom, notwithstanding his bumptiousness, felt 
friends with him at once, and began sucking in all 
his ways and prejudices, as fast as he could under- 
stand them. 

East was great in the character of cicerone ; he 
carried Tom through the great gates, where were 
only, i wo or three boys. These satisfied themselves 
with the stock questions, “ You fellow, what’s your 


104 


INTRODUCTION TO THE MATRON. 


name? Where do you come from? How old are 
you? Where do you board? and what form are 
you in ? ” and so they passed on through the quad- 
rangle and a small court-yard, upon which looked 
down a lot of little windows, belonging, as his 
guide informed him, to some of the school-house 
studies, into the matron’s room, where East intro- 
duced Tom to that dignitary; made him give up 
the key of his trunk, that the matron might unpack 
his linen, and told the story of the hat, and of his 
own presence of mind ; upon the relation whereof, 
the matron laughingly scolded him, for thg coolest 
new boy in the house ; and East, indignant at the 
accusation of newness, marched Tom off into the 
quadrangle, and began showing him the schools, and 
examining him as to his literary attainments ; the 
result of which was, a prophecy that they would 
be in the same form, and could do their lessons 
together. 

“ And now come in and see my study ; we shall 
have just time before dinner ; and afterwards, before 
calling over, we’ll do the close.” 

Tom followed his guide through the school-house 
hall, which opens into the quadrangle. It is a great 
room thirty feet long and eighteen high, or there- 
abouts, with two great tables running the whole 
length, and two large fireplaces at the side, with 
blazing fires in them, at one of which some dozen 
boys were standing and lounging, some of whom 
shouted to East to stop ; but he shot through w \yith 
his convoy, and landed him in the long dark pas- 
sages. with a large fire at the end of each, upon 


east’s study, and the furnishing thereof. 105 

which the studies opened. Into one of these, in the 
bottom passage, East bolted with our hero, slam- 
ming and bolting the door behind them, in case ot 
pursuit from the hall, and Tom was for the first time 
in a Rugby boy’s citadel. 

He hadn’t been prepared for separate studies, and 
was not a little astonished and delighted with the 
palace in question. 

It wasn’t very large certainly, being about six feet 
long by four broad. It couldn’t be called light, as 
there were bars and a grating to the window, which 
little precautions were necessary in. the studies on 
the ground-floor looking out into the close, to pre- 
vent the exit of small boys after locking up, and 
the entrance of contraband articles. B.ut it -was 
uncommonly comfortable to look at, Tom thought. 
The space under the window at the further end was 
occupied by a square table covered with a reason- 
ably clean and whole red-and-blue check tablecloth ; 
a hard-seated sofa covered with red stuff occupied 
one side, running up to the end, and making a seat 
for one, or by sitting close for two, at the table ; 
and a good stout wooden chair afforded a seat to 
another boy, so that three could sit and work to- 
gether. The walls were wainscoted half-way up, 
the wainscot being covered with green baize, the 
remainder with a bright-patterned paper, on which 
hung three or four prints, of dogs’ heads, Grimaldi 
winning the Aylesbury steeple-chase, Amy Robsart, 
the reigning Waverley beauty of the day, and Tom 
Crib in a posture of defence, which did no great 
credit to the science of that hero, if truly represented. 


106 “ OUR OWN ” AND THE USE THEREOF. 

Over the door were a row of hat pegs, and on each 
side bookcases with cupboards at the bottom; shelves 
and cupboards being filled indiscriminately with 
school-books, a cup or two, a mouse-trap, and brass 
candlesticks, leather straps, a fustian bag, and some 
curious looking articles, which puzzled Tom not a 
little, until his friend explained that they were climb- 
ing irons, and showed their use. A cricket-bat and 
small fishing-rod stood up in one corner. 

This was the residence of East and another boy 
in the same form, and had more interest for Tom 
than Windsor Castle, or any other residence in the 
British Isles. For was he not about to become the 
joint owner of a similar home, the first place which 
he could call his own ? One’s own — what a charm 
there is in the words ! How long it takes boy and 
man to find out their worth ! how fast most of us 
hold on to them ! faster and more jealously, the 
nearer we are to the general home, into which we 
can take nothing, but must go naked as we came 
into the world. When shall we learn that he who 
multiplieth possessions multiplieth troubles, and that 
the one single use of things which we call our own, 
is that they may be his who- hath need of them ? 

“ And shall I have a study like this, too?” said 
Tom. 

“ Yes, of course, you’ll be chummed with some 
fellow on Monday, and you can sit here till then.” 

“ What nice places ! ” 

“ They’re well enough,” answered East, patroniz- 
ingly, “ only uncommon cold at nights sometimes. 
Gower, that’s my chum, and I make a fire with 


/ 


tom’s first rugby dinner. 


107 


paper on the floor after supper generally, only that 
makes it so smoky.’’ 

“ But there’s a big fire out in the passage,” said 
Tom. 

“ Precious little good we get of that, tho’,” said 
East; “Jones, the praepostor, has the study at the 
fire end, and he has rigged up an iron rod and 
green-baize curtain across the passage, which he 
draws at night, and sits there with his door open, so 
he gets all the fire, and hears if we come out of our 
studies after eight, or make a noise. However, he’s 
taken to sitting in the fifth-form room lately, so we 
do get a bit of fire now sometimes; only keep a 
sharp look-out that he don’t catch you behind his 
curtain when he comes down, that’s all.” 

A quarter past one now struck, and the bell be- 
gan tolling for dinner, so they went into the hall 
and took their places, Tom at the very bottom of 
the second table, next to the praepostor, who sat at 
the end to keep order there, and East a few places 
higher. And now Tom for the first time saw his 
future school-fellows in a body. In they came, some 
hot and ruddy from football dr long walks, some 
pale and chilly from hard reading in their studies, 
some from loitering over the fire at the pastry-cook’s, 
dainty mortals, bringing with them pickles and 
sauce-bottles to help them with their dinners. And 
a great big bearded man, whom Tom took for a 
master, began calling over the names, while the 
great joints were being rapidly carved on a third 
table in the corner by the old verger and the house- 
keeper. Tom’s turn came last, and meanwhile he 


108 


EAST ON TOPOGRAPHY. 


was all eyes, looking first with awe at the great mar. 
who sat close to him, and was helped first, and who 
read a hard-looking book all the time he was eating; 
and when he got up and walked off to the fire, at the 
small boys round him, some of whom were reading, 
and the rest talking in whispers to one another, or 
stealing one another’s bread, or shooting pellets, or 
digging their forks through the tablecloth. However, 
notwithstanding his curiosity, he managed to make a 
capital dinner by the time the big man called “ Stand 
up,” and said grace. 

As soon as dinner was over, and Tom had been 
questioned by such of his neighbours as were curious 
as to his birth, parentage, education, and other like 
matters, East, who evidently enjoyed his new dignity 
of patron and mentor, proposed having a look at the 
close, which Tom, athirst for knowledge, gladly as- 
sented to, and they went out through the quadrangle 
and past the big fives’ court, into the great play- 
ground. 

“ That’s the chapel you see,” said East, “ and 
there just behind it is the place for fights; you see 
it’s ’most out of the way of the masters, who all 
live on the other side and don’t come by here after 
first lesson or callings-over. That’s when the fights 
come off. And all this part where we are is the 
little side-ground, right up to the trees, and on the 
other side of the trees is the big side-ground, where 
the great matches are played. And there’s the 
island in the furthest corner ; you’ll know that well 
enough next half, when there’s island fagging. I 
say, it’s horrid cold, let’s have a run across,” and 


WHITE TROUSERS IN NOVEMBER. 


109 


away went East, Tom close behind him. East 
was evidently putting his best foot foremost, and 
Tom, who was mighty proud of his running, and 
not a little anxious to show his friend that although 
a new boy he was no milk-sop, laid himself down to 
work in his very best style. Right across the close 
they went, each doing all he knew, and there wasn’t 
a yard between them when they pulled up at the 
island moat. 

“ I say,” said East, as soon as he got his wind, 
looking with much increased respect at Tom, “you 
ain’t a bad scud, not by no means. Well, I’m as 
warm as a toast now.” 

“ But why do you wear white trousers in Novem- 
ber?” said Tom. He had been struck by this pecu- 
liarity in the costume of almost all the school-house 
boys. 

“ Why, bless us, don’t you know ? — No, I forgot. 
Why, to-day’s the school-house match. Our house 
plays the whole of the school at football. And we 
all wear white trousers, to show ’em we don’t care 
for hacks. You’re in luck to come to-day. You 
just will see a match ; and Brooke’s going to let me 
play in quarters. That’s more than he/ll do for 
any other lower school-boy, except James, and he’s 
fourteen.” 

“ Who’s Brooke ? ” 

“ Why, that big fellow who called-over at dinner, 
to be sure. He’s cock of the school, and head of 
the school-house side, and the best kick and charger 
in Rugby.” 

u Oh, but do show me where they play. And tell 


110 


EAST DISCOURSETH LEARNEDLY 


me about it. I love football so, and I’ve played all 
my life. Won’t Brooke let me play? ” 

“Not he,” said East, with some indignation; “why 
you don’t know the rules, you’ll be a month learning 
them. And then it’s no joke playing-up in a match, 
I can tell you. Quite another thing from your private 
school games. Why, there’s been two collar-bones 
broken this half, and a dozen fellows lamed. And 
last year a fellow had his leg broken.” 

Tom listened with the profoundest respect to this 
chapter of accidents, and followed East across the 
level ground till they came to a sort of gigantic gal- 
lows of two poles eighteen feet high, fixed upright in 
the ground some fourteen feet apart, with a cross-bar 
running from one to the other at the height of ten feet 
or thereabouts. 

“ This is one of the goals,” said East, “ and you 
see the other, across there, right opposite, under the 
Doctor’s wall. Well, the match is for the best of 
three goals; whichever side kicks two goals wins, 
and it won’t do, you see, just to kick the ball 
through these posts, it must go over the cross-bar; 
any height’ll do, so long as it’s between the posts. 
You’ll have to stay in goal to touch the ball when 
it rolls behind the posts, because if the other side 
touch it they have a try at goal. Then we fellows 
in quarters, we play just about in front of goal here, 
and have to turn the ball and kick it back, before 
the big fellows on the other side can follow it up. 
And in front of us all the big fellows play, and that’s 
where the scrummages are mostly.” 

Tom’s respect increased as he struggled to make 


ON FOOTBALL AND THE LAWS THEREOF. Ill 


out his friend’s technicalities, and the other set to 
work to explain the mysteries of “ off your side,” 
“drop-kicks,” “punts,” “places,” and the other intri- 
cacies of the great science of football. 

“ But how do you keep the ball between the 
goals ? ” said he ; “I can’t see why it mightn’t go 
right down to the chapel.” 

“Why, that’s out of play,” answered East. “ You 
see this gravel walk running down all along this 
side of the playing-ground, and the line of elms op- 
posite on the other ? Well, they’re the bounds. As 
soon as the ball gets past them, it’s in touch, and 
out of play. And then whoever first touches it, has 
to knock it straight out amongst the players-up, 
who make two lines with a space between them, 
every fellow going on his own side. Ain’t there 
just fine scrummages then ! and the three trees you 
see there which come out into the play, that’s a 
tremendous place when the ball hangs there, for you 
get thrown against the trees, and that’s worse than 
any hack.” 

Tom wondered within himself, as they strolled 
back again towards the fives’ court, whether the 
matches were really such break-neck affairs as East 
represented, and whether, if they were, he should 
ever get to like them and play-up well. 

He hadn’t long to wonder, however, for next 
minute East cried out, “Hurra! here’s the punt- 
about, — come along and try your hand at a kick.” 
The punt-about is the practice-ball, which is just 
brought out and kicked about any how from one 
boy to another before callings-over and dinner, and 


112 


CALLING-OYER. 


at other odd times. They joined the boys who hac* 
brought it out, all small school-house fellows, friends 
of East, and Tom had the pleasure of trying his skill, 
and performed very creditably, after first driving his 
foot three inches into the ground, and then nearly 
kicking his leg into the air, in vigorous efforts to ac- 
complish a drop-kick after the manner of East. 

Presently more boys and bigger came out, and 
boys from other houses on their way to calling-over, 
and more balls were sent for. The crowd thickened 
as three o’clock approached ; and when the hour 
struck, one hundred and fifty boys were hard at 
work. Then the balls were held, the. master of the 
week came down in cap and gown to calling-over, 
and the whole school of three hundred boys swept 
into the big schooj. to answer to their names. 

“ I may come in, mayn’t I ? ” said Tom, catching 
East by the arm and longing to feel himself one of 
them. 

“ Yes, come along, nobody’ll say anything. You 
won’t be so eager to get into calling-over after a 
month,” replied his friend; and they marched into 
the big school together, and up to the further end, 
where that illustrious form, the lower fourth, which 
had the honour of East’s patronage for the time 
being, stood. 

The master mounted into the high desk by the 
door, and one of the praepostors of the week stood 
by him on the steps, the other three marching up 
and down the middle of the school with their canes, 
calling out “ Silence, silence ! ” The sixth-form 
stood close by the door on the left, some thirty in 


113 


U THEY TRUST TO OUR HONOUR.” 

number, mostly great big grown men, as Tom 
thought, surveying them from a distance with awe. 
The fifth-form behind them, twice their number 
and not quite so big. These on the left, and on 
the right the lower fifth, shell, and all the junior 
forms in order, while up the middle marched the 
three praepostors. 

Then the praepostor who stands by the master 
calls out the names, beginning with the sixth-form, 
and as he calls, each boy answers “ here ” to his 
name, and walks out. Some of the sixth stop at 
the door to turn the whole string of boys into the 
close ; it is a great match day, and every boy in 
the school, will-he, nill-he, must be there. The rest 
of the tfiffth go forwards into the close, to see that 
no one escapes by any of the side gates. 

To-day, however, being the school-house match, 
none of the school-house praepostors stay by the door 
to watch for truants of their side ; there is carte 
blanclie to the school-house fags to go where they 
like. “ They trust to our honour,” as East proudly 
informs Tom ; “ they know very well that no school- 
house boy would cut the match. If he did, we’d 
very soon cut him, I can tell you.” 

The master of the week being short-sighted, and 
the praepostors of the week small and not well up 
to- their work, the lower school-boys employ the ten 
minutes which elapse before their names are called, 
in pelting one another vigorously with acorns, which 
fly about in all directions. The small praepostors 
dash in every now and then, and generally chastise 
some quiet, timid boy, who is equally afraid of 
n 


114 


MARSHALLING FOR FOOTBALL. 


acorns and canes, while the principal performers 
get dexterously out of the way ; and so calling- 
over rolls on somehow, much like the big world 
punishments lighting on wrong shoulders, and mat- 
ters going generally in a queer, cross-grained way 
but the end coming somehow, which is after ah 
the great point. And now the master of the week 
has finished, and locked up the big school ; and 
the praepostors of the week come out, sweeping 
the last remnant of the school fags, who had been 
loafing about the corners by the fives’ court, in 
hopes of a chance of bolting, before them into the 
close. 

“ Hold the punt-about ! ” “ To the goals ! ” are 

the cries, and all stray balls are impounded by 
the authorities ; and the whole mass of boys moves 
up towards the two goals, dividing as they go 
into three bodies. That little band on the left, 
consisting of from fifteen to twenty boys, Tom 
amongst them, who are making for the goal 
under the school-house wall, are the school-house 
boys who are not to play-up, and have to stay in 
goal. The larger body moving to the island goal, 
are the school-boys in a like predicament. The 
great mass in the middle are the players-up, both 
sides mingled together ; they are hanging their 
jackets, and all who mean real work, their hats, 
waistcoats, neck-handkerchiefs, and braces, on the 
railings round the small trees ; and there they go 
by twos and threes up to their respective grounds. 
There is none of the colour and tastiness of get- 
up, you will perceive, which lends such a life to 


FOOTBALL NOW AND THEN. 


115 


the present game at Rugby, making the dullest 
and worst-fought match a pretty sight. Now each 
house has its own uniform of cap and jersey, of 
some lively colour ; but at the time we are speak- 
ing of, plush caps have not yet come in, or uni- 
forms of any sort, except the school-house white 
trousers, which are abominably cold to-day : let 
us get to work, bare-headed and girded with our 
plain leather straps — but we mean business, gen- 
tle mem 

And now that the two sides » have fairly sun- 
dered, and each occupies its own ground, and we 
get a good look at them, what absurdity is this ? 
You don’t mean to say that those fifty or sixty 
boys in white trousers, many of them quite small, 
are going to play that huge mass opposite ? In- 
deed I do, gentlemen ; they’re going to try at any 
rate, and won’t make such a bad fight of it either, 
mark my word ; for hasn’t old Brooke won the 
toss, with his lucky halfpenny, and got choice of 
goals and kick-off ? The new ball you may see 
lie there quite by itself, in the middle, pointing 
towards the school or island goal ; in another 
minute it will be well on its way there. Use that 
minute in remarking how the school-house side is 
drilled. You will see, in the first place, that the 
sixth-form boy, who has the charge of goal, has 
spread his force (the goal-keepers) so as to occupy 
the whole space behind the goal-posts, at distances 
of about five yards apart ; a safe and well-kept 
goal is the foundation of all good play. Old 
Brooke is talking to the captain of quarters ; and 


116 


old brooke’s generalship. 


now he moves away ; see how that youngster 
spreads his men (the light brigade) carefully over 
the ground, .half-way between their own goal and 
.the body of their own players-up, (the heavy bri- 
gade). These again play in several bodies : there 
is young Brooke and the bull-dogs — mark them 
well — they are “the fighting brigade,” the “die- 
hards,” larking about at leap-frog to keep them- 
selves warm, and playing tricks on one another. 
And on each side of old Brooke, who is now stand- 
ing in the middle of the ground and just going to 
kick-off, you see a separate wing of players-up, 
each with a boy of acknowledged prowess to look 
to — here Warner, and there Hedge; but over all 
is old Brooke, absolute as he of Russia, but wisely 
and bravely ruling ^over willing and worshipping 
subjects, a true football king. His face is earnest 
and careful as he glances a last time over his array, 
but full of pluck and hope, the sort of look 
I hope to see in my general when I go out to 
fight. 

The school side is not organized in the same 
way. The goal-keepers are all in lumps, any-how 
and no-how” f* you can’t distinguish between the 
players -up and the boys in quarters, and there is 
divided leadership : but with such odds in strength 
and weight, it must take more than that to hin- 
der them from winning; and so their leaders seem 
to think, for they let the players-up manage them- 
selves. 

But now look, there is a slight move forward of 
the school-house wings ; old Brooke takes half-ar 


THE “ONSET.” A SCRUMMAGE. 


117 


dozen quick steps, and away goes the ball spinning 
towards the school goal ; seventy yards before it 
touches ground, and at no point above twelve or 
fifteen feet high, a model kick-off; and the school- 
house cheer and rush on ; the ball is returned, and 
they meet it and drive it back amongst the masses 
of the school already in motion. Then the two sides 
close, and you can see nothing for minutes but a 
swaying crowd of boys, at one point violently agi- 
tated. That is where the ball is, and there are the 
keen players to be met, and the glory and the hard 
knocks to be got ; you hear the dull thud thud of 
the ball, and the shouts of “ Off your side,” “ Down 
with him,” “ Put him over,” “Bravo.” This is what 
we call a scrummage, gentlemen, and the first scrum- 
mage in a school-house match was no joke in the 
consulship of Plancus. 

Bilt see ! it has broken, the ball is driven out on 
the school-house side, and a rush of the school car- 
ries it past the school-house players-up. “ Look out 
in quarters,” Brooke’s and twenty other voices ring 
out ; no need to call though, the school-house captain 
of quarters has caught it on the bound, dodges the 
foremost school-boys who are heading the rush, and 
sends it back with a good drop-kick well intp the 
enemies’ country. And then follows rush upon rush, 
and scrummage upon scrummage, the ball now 
driven through into the school-house quarters, and 
now into the school goal ; for the school-house have 
not lost the advantage which the kick-off and a 
slight wind gave them at the outset, and are slightly 
u penning ” their adversaries. You say, you don’t 


118 


HOW TO GO IN. 


see much in it all, nothing but a struggling mass of 
boys, and a leather ball, which seems to excite them 
all to great fury, as a red rag does a bull. My 
dear sir, a battle would look much the same to you, 
except that the boys would be men, and the balls 
iron ; but a battle would be worth your looking 
at for all that, and so is a football match. You 
can’t be expected to appreciate the delicate strokes 
of play, the turns by which a game is lost and 
won, — it takes an old player to do that, but the 
broad philosophy of football *you can understand if 
you will. Come along with me a little nearer, and 
let us consider it together. 

The ball has just fallen again where the two sides 
are thickest, and they close rapidly around it in a 
scrummage ; it must be driven through now by force 
or skill, till it flies out on one side or thtLother. 
Look how differently the boys face it. HerSfcome 
two of the bull-dogs, bursting through th^ outsiders ; 
in they go, straight to the heart of the scrummage, 
bent on driving that ball out on the opposite side. 
That is what they mean to do. My sons, my sons ! 
you are too hot; you have gone past the ball, and 
must struggle now right through the scrummage, and 
get round and back again to your own side, before 
you can be of any further use. Here comes young 
Brooke ; he goes in as straight as you, but keeps his 
head, and backs and bends, holding himself still 
behind the ball, and driving it furiously when he 
gets the chance. Take a leaf out of his book, you 
young chargers. Here come Speedicut, and Flash- 
man, the school-house bully, with shouts and great 


THE FIRST CHECK. 


119 


action. Won’t you two come up to young Brooke, 
after locking-up, by the school-house fire, with “ Old 
fellow, wasn’t that just a splendid scrummage by 
the three trees ! ” But he knows you, and so do we 
You don’t really want to drive that ball through 
that scrummage, chancing all hurt for the glory of 
the school-house, but to make us think that’s what 
you want — a vastly different thing, and fellows of 
your kidney will never go through more than the 
skirts of a scrummage, where it’s all push and no 
kicking. We respect 6oys who keep out of it, and 
don’t sham going in ; but you — we had rather not 
say what we think of you. 

Then the boys who are bending and watching on 
the outside, mark them — they are most useful play- 
ers, the dodgers ; who seize on the ball the moment 
it rolls out frojn amongst the chargers, and away 
with"lt;a cross, to the opposite goal ; they seldom go 
into the scrummage, but must have more coolness 
than the chargers ; as endless as are boys’ characters, 
so are their ways of facing or not meeting a scrum- 
mage at football. 

Three-quarters of an hour are gone ; first winds 
are failing, and weights and numbers beginning to 
tell. Yard by yard the school-house have been driven 
back, contesting every inch of ground. The bull- 
dogs are the colour of mother earth from shoulder 
to ankle, except young Brooke, who has a marvel- 
lous knack of keeping his legs. The school-house 
are being penned in their turn, and now the ball is 
behind their goal, under the Doctor’s wall. The 
Doctor and some of his family are there looking on, 


120 


ioung brooke’s rush. 


and seem as anxious as any boy for the success of 
the school-house. We get a minute’s breathing time 
before old Brooke kicks out, and he gives the word 
to play strongly for touch, by the three trees. Away 
goes the ball, and the bull-dogs after it, and in an- 
other minute there is a shout of “ In touch,” “ Our 
ball.” Now’s your time, old Brooke, while your 
men are still fresh. He stands with the ball in his 
hand, while the two sides form in deep lines opposite 
one another ; he must strike it straight out between 
them. The lines are thickest close to him, but 
young Brooke and two or three of his men are 
shifting up further, where the opposite line is weak. 
Old Brooke strikes it out straight and strong, and it 
falls opposite his brother. Hurra ! that rush has 
taken it right through the school line, and away 
past the three trees, far into their quarters, and 
young Brooke and the bull-dogs are close 1 upon it. 
The school leaders rush back shouting “ Look out 
in goal,” and strain every nerve to catch him, but 
they are after the fleetest foot in Rugby. There 
they go straight for the goal-posts, quarters scatter- 
ing before them. One after another the bull-dogs 
go down, but young Brooke holds on. “ He is 
down.” No ! a long stagger, but the danger is past; 
that was the shock of Crew, the most dangerous of 
dodgers. And now he is close to the school goal, 
the ball not three yards before him. There is a 
hurried rush of the school fags to the spot, but no one 
throws himself on the ball, the only chance, and 
young Brooke has touched it right under the school 
goal-posts. 


CRAB JONES. 


121 


The school leaders come up furious, and adminis- 
ter toco to the wretched fags nearest at hand ; they 
may well be angry, for it is all Lombard street to a 
China orange that the school-house kick a goal with 
the ball touched in such a good place. Old Brooke 
of course will kick it out, but who shall catch 
and place it? Call Crab Jones. Here he comes, 
sauntering along with a straw in his mouth, the 
queerest, coolest fish in Rugby : if he were tumbled 
into the moon this minute, he would just pick him- 
self up without taking his hands out of his pockets 
or turning a hair. But it is a moment when the 
boldest charger’s heart beats quick. Old Brooke 
stands with the ball under his arm motioning the 
school back ; he will not kick-out till they are all in 
goal, behind the posts ; they are all edging forwards, 
inch by inch, to get nearer for the rush at Crab 

Jones, who stands there in front of old Brooke to 

1 0 
catch the ball. If they can reach and destroy him 

before he catches, the danger is over, and with one 
and the same rush they will carry it right away to 
the school-house goal. Fond hope, it is kicked out 
and caught beautifully. Crab strikes his heel into 
the ground, to mark the spot where the ball was 
caught, beyond which the school line may not 
advance; but there they stand five deep, ready to 
rush the moment the ball touches the ground. Take 
plenty of room ! don’t give the rush a chance of 
reaching you ! place it true and steady ! Trust 
Crab Jones — he has made a small hole with his 
heel for the ball to lie on, by which he is resting on 
one knee, with his eye on old Brooke. u Now i ” 


122 


a goal — Griffith’s baskets. 


Crab places the ball at the word, old Brooke kicks, 
and it rises slowly and truly as the school rush 
forward. 

Then a moment’s pause, while both sides look up 
at the spinning ball. There it flies straight between 
the two posts, some five feet above the cross-bar, an 
unquestioned goal; and a shout of real genuine joy 
rings out from the school-house players-up, and a 
faint echo of it comes over the close from the goal- 
keepers under the Doctor’s wall. A goal in the first 
hour — such a thing hasn’t been done in the school- 
house match this five years. 

“ Over ! ” is the cry : the two sides change goals, 
and the school-house goal-keepers come threading 
their way*across through the masses of the school ; 
the most openly triumphant of them, amongst whom 
is Tom, a school-house boy of two hours’ standing, 
•getting their ears boxed in the transit. Tom indeed 
is excited beyond measure, and it is all the sixth- 
form boy, kindest and safest of goal-keepers, has 
been able to do to keep him from rushing out when- 
ever the ball has been near their goal. So he holds 
him by his side, and instructs him in the science of 
touching. 

At this moment Griffith, the itinerant vendor of 
oranges from Hill Morton, enters the close with his 
heavy baskets ; there is a rush of small boys upon 
the little pale-faced man, the two sides mingling 
together subdued by the great goddess Thirst, like 
the English and French by the streams in the Pyr- 
ennees. The leaders are past oranges and apples, 
but some of them visit their coats, and apply in no- 


THE SECOND HOUfi. 


123 


cent looking ginger-beer bottles to their mouths. It 
is no ginger-beer though, I fear, and will do you no 
good. One short mad rush, and then a stitch in the 
side, and no more honest play ; that’s what comes 
of those bottles. 

But now Griffith’s baskets are empty, the ball is 
placed again midway, and the school are going to 
kick off. Their leaders have sent their lumber into 
goal and rated the rest soundly, and one hundred 
and twenty picked players-up are there, bent on re- 
trieving the game. They are to keep the ball in 
front of the school-house goal, and then to drive it in 
by sheer strength and weight. They mean heavy 
play and no mistake, and so old Brooke sees ; and 
places Crab Jones in quarters just before the goal, 
with four or five picked players, who are to keep 
the ball away to the sides, where a try at goal, if 
obtained, will be less dangerous than in front. He 
himself, and Warner, and Hedge, who have saved 
themselves till now, will lead the chargers. 

“Are you ready!” “Yes.” And away comes 
the ball kicked high in the air, iq give the school 
time to rush on and catch it as it falls. And here 
they are amongst us. Meet them like Englishmen, 
you school-house boys, and charge them home. 
Now is the time to show what mettle is in you — 
and there shall be a warm seat by the hall fire, and 
honour, and lots of bottled beer to-night, for him 
who does his duty in the next half-hour. And they 
are well met. Again and again the cloud of their 
players-up gathers before our goal, and comes threat- 
ening on, and Warner or Hedge, with young Brooke 


124 


EAST S CHARGE. 


and the relics of the bull-dogs, break through and 
carry the ball back ; and old Brooke ranges the field 
like Job’s war-horse, the thickest scrummage parts . 
asunder before his rush, like the waves before a 
clipper’s bows ; his cheery voice rings over the field, 
and his eye is everywhere. And if these miss the 
ball, and it rolls dangerously in front of our goal, 
Crab Jones and his men have seized it and sent it 
away towards the sides with the unerring drop-kick. 
This is worth living for ; the whole sum of school- 
boy existence gathered up into one straining, strug- 
gling half-hour, a half-hour worth a year of common 
life. 

The quarter to five has struck, and the play 
slackens for a minute before goal ; but there is 
Crew, the artful dodger, driving the ball in behind 
our goal, on the island side, where our quarters 
are weakest. Is there no one to meet him? Yes! 
look at little East ! the ball is just at equal dis- 
tances between the two, and they rush together, 
the young man of seventeen and the boy of twelve, 
and kick it at the same moment. Crew passes 
on without a stagger ; East is hurled forward by 
the shock, and plunges on his shoulder, as if he 
would bury himself in the ground ; but the ball 
rises straight into the air, and falls behind Crew’s 
back, while the bravos of the school-house attest 
the pluckiest charge of all that hard-fought day. 
Warner picks East up lame and half stunned, and 
he hobbles back into goal, conscious of having 
played the man. 

And now the last minutes are come, and the 


THE LAST RUSH. 


125 


school gather for their last rush, every boy of the 
hundred and twenty who has a run left in him. 
Reckless of the defence of their own goal, on they 
come across the level big-side ground, the ball well 
down amongst them, straight for our goal, like 
the column of the old guard up the slope at 
Waterloo. All former charges have been child’s 
play to this. Warner and Hedge have met them, 
but still on they come. The bull-dogs rush in for 
the last time ; they are hurled over or carried back, 
striving hand, foot, and eyelids. Old Brooke comes 
sweeping round the skirts of the play, and turn- 
ing short round, picks out the very heart of the 
scrummage, and plunges in. It wavers for a mo- 
ment, — he has the ball! No, it has passed him, 
and his voice rings out clear over the advancing 
tide, “ Look out in goal.” Crab Jones catches it 
for a moment, but before he can kick, the rush is 
upon him and passes over him ; and he picks 
himself up behind them with his straw in his 
mouth, a little dirtier, but as cool as ever. 

The ball rolls slowly in behind the school-house 
goal, not three yards in front of a dozen of the big- 
gest school players-up. 

There stand the s.chool-house praepostor, safest of 
goal-keepers, and Tom Brown by his side, who has 
learned his trade by this time. Now is your time, 
Tom. The blood of all the Browns is up, and the 
two rush in together, and throw themselves on the 
ball, under the very feet of the advancing column ; the 
praepostor on his hands and knees arching his back, 
and Tom all along on his face. Over them topple 


126 


tom’s first exploit. 


the leaders of the rush, shooting over the back of the 
praepostor, but falling flat on Tom, and knocking all 
the wind out of his small carcass. “ Our ball,” says 
the praepostor, rising with his prize, “but get up there, 
there’s a little fellow under you.” They are hauled 
and roll off him, and Tom is discovered a motionless 
body. 

Old Brooke picks him up. “ Stand back, give him 
air,” he says;, and then feeling his limbs, adds, “ No 
bones broken. How do you feel, young ’un ? ” 

“ Hah-hah,” gasps Tom, as his wind comes back, 
“ pretty well, thank you — all right.” 

“Who is he?” says Brooke. “Oh, it’s Brown, he’s 
a new boy ; I know him,” says East, coming up. 

“ Well, he’s a plucky youngster, and will make a 
player,” says Brooke. 

And five o’clock strikes. “No side” is called, and 
the first day of the school-house match is over. 


4 


CHAPTER VI. 


AFTER THE MATCH. 

“ Some food we had.” — Shakspeare. 

! f q noxoq udvq . — THEOCR. Id. 

As the boys scattered away from the ground, 
and East, leaning on Tom’s arm, and limping 
along, was beginning to consider what luxury they 
should go and buy for tea to celebrate that glorious 
victory, the two Brookes came striding by. Old 
Brooke caught sight of East, and stopped; put his 
hand kindly on his shoulder and said, “ Bravo, 
youngster, you played famously ; not 1 much the 
matter, I hope?” 

“No, nothing at all,” said East, “only a little twist 
from that charge.” 

“Well, mind and get all right for next Saturday;” 
and the leader passed on, leaving East better for 
those few words than all the opodeldoc in England 
would have made him, and Tom ready to give one 
of his ears for as much notice. Ah ! light words of 
those whom we love and honour, what a power ye 
are, and how carelessly wielded by those who can 
use you ! Surely for these things also God will ask 
an account. 

“ Tea’s directly after locking-up, you see,” said 


128 


CELEBRATING THE VICTORY. 


East, hobbling along as fast as he could, “ so you 
come along down to Sally Harrowell’s ; that’s our 
school-house tuck-shop — she bakes such stunning 
murphies, we’ll have a penn’orth each for tea ; come 
along, or they’ll all be gone.” 

Tom’s new purse and money burnt in his pocket ; 
he wondered, as they toddled through the quad- 
rangle and along the street, whether East would be 
insulted if he suggested further extravagance, as he 
had not sufficient faith in a pennyworth of potatoes 
At last he blurted out — 

u I say, East, can’t we get something else besides 
potatoes ? I’ve got lots of money, you know.” 

“ Bless us, yes, I forgot,” said East, “ you’ve only 
just come. You see all my tin’s been gone this 
twelve weeks, it hardly ever lasts beyond the first 
fortnight; and our allowances were all stopped this 
morning for broken windows, so I haven’t got a 
penny, rve got a tick at Sally’s, of course ; but 
then I hate running it high, you see, towards the 
end of the half, ’cause one has to shell out for it all 
directly one comes back, and that’s a bore.” 

Tom didn’t understand much of this talk, but 
seized on the fact that East had no money, and 
was denying himself some little pet luxury in conse- 
quence. “ Well, what shall I buy?” said he, “ I’m 
uncommon hungry.” 

“ I say,” said East, stopping to look at him and 
rest his leg, “ you’re a trump, Brown. I’ll do the 
same by you next half. Let’s have a pound of 
sausages, then; that’s the best grub for tea I know 
of.” 


harrowell’s. 


129 


“ Very well,” said Tom, as pleased as possible, 
u where do they sell them ? ” 

“ Oh, over here, just opposite and they crossed 
the street, and walked into the cleanest little front- 
room of a small house, half parlour, half shop, and 
bought a pound of most particular sausages ; East 
talking pleasantly to Mrs. Porter while she put them 
in paper, and Tom doing the paying part. 

From Porter’s they adjourned to Sally Harrowell’s. 
where they found a lot of school-house boys waiting 
for the roast potatoes, and relating their own ex- 
ploits in the day’s match at the top of their voices. 
The street opened at once into Sally’s kitchen, a 
low brick-floored room, with large recess for fire, 
and chimney-corner seats. Poor little Sally, the 
most good-natured and much-enduring of woman- 
kind, was bustling about with a napkin in her hand, 
from her own oven to those of the neighbour’s cot- 
tages, up the yard at the back of her house. Stumps, 
her husband, a short easy-going shoemaker, with a 
beery humourous eye and ponderous calves, who 
lived mostly on his wife’s earnings, stood in a corner 
of the room, exchanging shots of the roughest de- 
scription of repartee with every boy in turn. “ Stumps, 
you lout, you’ve had too much beer again to-day.” 
“’Twasnt of your paying for then.” — “Stumps’s 
calves are running down into his ankles, they want 
to get to grass.” <c Better be doing that, than gone 
altogether like yours,” &c., &c. Very poor stuff it 
was, but it served to make time pass, and every 
now and then Sally arrived in the middle with a 
smoking tin of potatoes, which was cleared off in a 

jfe. 12* 


130 


STUMPS AND HIS TRIBULATIONS. 


few seconds, each boy as he seized his lot, running 
off to the house with “ Put me down two penn’orth, 
Sally “ Put down three penn’orth between me 
artd* Davis, Hpw'she ever kept the accounts 
so straight : as she nlid,, wl^;r . head, and on her slate, 
was a perfect \\tdt]cle^ > ' 

>E£st arid Tom served .at last, and started back 
'for the scbool : ho.iis|f*Just^^fie locking-up bell be- 
gan to ring ; East -on the way recounting the life 
and adventures of Stumps, who was a character. 
Amongst his other small avocations, he was the 
hind carrier of a sedan-chair, the last of its race, in 
which the Rugby ladies still went out to tea, and in 
which, when he was fairly harnessed and carrying a 
load, it was the delight of small and mischievous 
boys to follow him and whip his calves. This was 
too much for the temper even of Stumps, and he 
would pursue his tormentors in a vindictive and 
apoplectic manner when released, but was easily 
pacified by twopence to buy beer with. 

The lower school boys of the school-house, some 
fifteen in number, had tea in the lower-fifth school, 
and were presided over by the old verger or head- 
porter. Each boy had a quarter of a loaf of bread 
and pat of butter, and as much tea as he pleased, 
and there was scarcely one who didn’t add to this 
some further luxury, such as baked potatoes, a her- 
ring, sprats, or something of the sort ; but few, at 
this period of the half-year, could live up to a pound 
of Porter’s sausages, and East was in great mag- 
nificence upon the strength of theirs. He had pro- 
duced a toasting-fork from his study, and set Tom 


TEA AND ITS LUXURIES 


131 


to toast the sausages, while he mounted guard 
over their butter and potatoes ; “ ’cause,” as he ex- 
plained, “ you’re a new boy, and they’ll play* you 
some trick and get our butter, but you can toast 
just as well as I.” So Tom, in the midst of three 
or four more urchins similarly employed, toasted his 
face and the sausages at the samer.time before the 
huge fire, till the latter cracke^; when East, from 
his watch-tower shouted that they were done, and 
then the feast proceeded, and the festive cups of 
tea were filled and emptied, and Tom imparted of 
the sausages in small bits to many neighbours, and 
thought he had never tasted such good potatoes or 
seen such jolly boys. They, on their parts, waived 
all ceremony, and pegged away at the sausages and 
potatoes, and remembering Tom’s performance in 
goal, voted East’s new crony a brick. After tea, and 
while the things were being cleared away, they 
gathered round the fire, and the talk on the match 
still went on ; and those who had them to show, 
pulled up their trousers and showed the hacks they 
had received in the good cause. 

They were soon, however, all turned out of the 
school, and East conducted Tom up to his bedroom, 
that he might get on clean things and wash himself 
before singing. 

“ What’s singing ? ” said Tom, taking his head 
nut of his basin, where he had been plunging it in 
cold water. 

“ Well, you are jolly green,” answered his friend 
from a neighbouring basin. “ Why the last six Sat- 
urdays of every half, we sing of course ; and this 






132 


SINGING. 


is the first of them. No first lesson to do, you know 
and lie in bed to-morrow morning.” 

“ But who sings ? ” 

“ Why everybody, of course ; you’ll see soon 
enough. We begin directly after supper, and sing 
till bed-timewJL. ain’t such good fun now tho’ as in 
the summer half, ’cause then we sing in the little 
fives’ court, under tfite- library, you know. We take 
our tables, and the big boys sit round, and drink 
beer ; double allowance on Saturday nights ; and we 
cut about the quadrangle between the songs, and it 
look^ like a lot of robbers in a cave. And the louts 
come and pound at the great gates, and we pound 
back again, and shout at them. But this half we 
only sing in the hall. Come along down to my 
study.” 

Their principal employment in the study was to 
clear out East’s table, removing the drawers and 
ornaments and table-cloth, for he lived in the bottom 
passage, and his table was in requisition for the 
singing. 

Supper came in due course at seven o’clock, con- 
sisting of bread and cheese and beer, which was all 
saved for the singing; and directly afterwards the 
fags went- to work to prepare the hall. The school- 
house hall, as has been said, is a great long high 
room, with two large fires on <jjie side, and two 
large iron-bound tables, one fteuj* fling down the 
middle, and the other along the wall Opposite the fire- 
places. Around the upper fire the fags placed the 
tables in the form of a horseshoe, and upon them the 
jugs, with the Saturday night’s allowance of beer. 


tom’s performances. 


133 


Then the big boys began to drop in and take their 
seats, bringing with them bottled beer and song- 
books ; for although they all knew the songs by heart, 
it was the thing to have an old manuscript book 
descended from some departed hero, in which they 
were all carefully written out. 

The sixth-form boys liad not yet appeared, so to 
fill up the gap, an interesting atffl-time-honoured cere- 
mony was gone through. Each new boy was placed 
on the table in turn, and made to sing a solo, under 
the penalty of drinking a large mug of salt and water 
if he resisted or broke down. However, the new 
boys all sing like nightingales to-night, and the salt 
water is not in requisition ; Tom as his part perform- 
ing the old west-country song of “ The Leather Bot- 
tel,” with considerable applause. And at the half- 
hour down come the sixth and fifth-form boys, and 
take their places at the tables, which are filled up by 
the next biggest boys, the rest, for whom there is no 
room at table, standing round outside. 

The glasses and mugs are filled, and then the 
fugleman strikes up the old sea song — 

“ A wet sheet and a flowing sea, 

And a wind that follows fast,” &c. 

which is the invariable first song in the school-house, 
and all the seventy voices join in, not mindful of har- 
mony, bjpfe'bent on noise, which they attain decidedly, 
— but the general effect isn’t bad. And then follow 
“ The British Grenadiers,” “ Billy Taylor,” “ The 
Siege of Seringapatam,” “ Three Jolly Post-boys,” 
and other vociferous songs in rapid succession, in- 
cluding the “ Chesapeake and Shannon,” a song 


134 


brooke’s honours. 


lately introduced in honour of old Brooke ; and when 
they come to the words — 

“ Brave Broke he waved his sword, crying, Now my lads aboard. 
And we’ll stop their playing Yankep-doodle-dandy, oh ! ” 

you expect the roof to com* down. The sixth and 
fifth know that “ brave lSolw,” of the Shannon, was 
no sort of relation to our old Brooke. The fourth- 
form are uncertain in their belief, but for the most 
part hold that old Brooke was a midshipman then, 
on board his uncle’s ship. And the lower school 
©ever doubt for a moment that it was our old Brooke 
who led the boarders, in what capacity they care not 
a straw. During the pauses the bottled beer corks 
fly rapidly, and the- talk is fast and merry, and the 
big boys, at least all of them who have a fellow- 
feeling for dry throats, hand their mugs over their 
shoulders to be emptied' tty the small ones who stand 
round behind. 

Then Warner, the head of the house, gets up and 
wants to speak, but he can’t, for every boy knows 
what’s coming, and the big boys who sit at the table 
pound them and cheer ; and the small boys who 
stand behind pound one another, and cheer, and 
rush about the hall cheering. Then silence being 
made, Warner reminds them of the old school-house 
custom of drinking the healths, on the first night of 
singing, of those who are going to leave at the end 
of the half. “ He sees that they know what he is 
going to say already — (loud cheers) — and so won’t 
keep them, but only ask them to treat the toast as it 
deserves. It is, the head of the eleven, the head of 


brooke's speech. 


135 


big-side football, their leader on this glorious day — 
Pater Brooke ! ” 

And away goes the pounding and cheering again, 
becoming deafening when old Brooke gets on his 
legs : till, a table having broken down, and a gallon 
or so of beer been upset, and all throats getting dry, 
silence ensues, and the hlro speaks, leaning his hands 
on the table, and bending a little forwards. No ac- 
tion, no tricks of oratory, — plain, strong and straight, 
like his play. 

“ Gentlemen of the school-house ! I am very 
proud of the way in which you have received my 
name, and I wish I could say all I should like in 
return. But I know I shan’t. However, I’ll do the 
best I can to say what seems to me ought to be 
said by a fellow who’s just going to leave, and who 
has spent a good slice of his life here. Eight years 
it is, and eight such years“ as I can never hope to 
have again. So now I hope you’ll all listen to me 
— (loud cries of ‘ that we will ’) — for I’m going to 
talk seriously. You’re bound to listen to me, for 
what’s the use of calling me ‘ pater,’ and all that, if 
you won’t mind what I say? And I’m going to 
talk seriously, because I feel so. It’s a jolly time, 
too, getting to the end of the half, and a goal 
kicked by us first day — (tremendous applause) — 
after one of the hardest and fiercest day’s play I 
can remember in eight years — (frantic shoutings.) 
The school played splendidly too, I will say, and 
kept it up to the last. That last charge of theirs 
would have carried away a house. I never thought 
to see any thing again of old Crab there, except 


136 


BROOKE ON UNION. 


little pieces, when I saw him tumbled over by it — 
(laughter and shouting, and great slapping on the 
back of Jones by the boys nearest him.) Well, but 
we beat ’em — (cheers.) Aye, but why did we beat 
’em ? answer me that — (shouts of * your play. 5 ) 
Nonsense. ’T wasn’t the wind and kick-off either, 
that wouldn’t do it. ’Twasn’t because we’ve half-a- 
dozen of the best players in the school, as we have. 
I wouldn’t change Warner, and Hedge, and Crab, 
and the young ’un, for any six on their side — (violent 
cheers.) But half-a-dozen fellows can’t keep it up for 
two hours against two hundred. Why is it then ? 
I’ll tell you what I think. It’s because we’ve more 
reliance on one another, more of a house feeling, 
more fellowship than the school can have. Each of 
us knows and can depend on his next hand man 
better — that’s why we beat ’em to day. We’ve 
union, they’ve division — there’s the secret — (cheers.) 
But how’s this to be kept up ? How’s it to be im- 
proved ? That’s the question. For I take it, we’re 
all in earnest about beating the school, whatever else 
we care about. I know I'd sooner win two school- 
house matches running than get the Balliol scholar- 
ship any day — (frantic cheers.) 

“ Now I’m as proud of the house as any one ; 1 
believe it is the best house in the school, out-and- 
out. (Cheers.) But it’s a long way from what I 
want to see it. First, there’s a deal of bullying 
going on. I know it well. I don’t pry about and 
interfere; that only makes it more underhand, and 
encourages the small boys to come to us with 
their fingers in their eyes telling tales, and so we 


BROOKE AGAINST BULLYING. 


137 


should be worse off than ever. It’s very little kind- 
ness for the sixth to meddle generally — you young- 
sters mind that. You’ll be all the better football 
players for learning to stand it, and to take your 
own parts, and fight it through. But depend on it, 
there’s nothing breaks up a house like bullying. 
Bullies are cowards, and one coward makes many ; 
so good-bye to the school-house match if bullying 
gets ahead here. (Loud applause from the small 
boys, who look meaningly at Flashman and other 
boys at the tables.) Then there’s fuddling about 
in the pnblic-house, and drinking bad spirits, and 
punch, and such rot-gut stuff. That won’t make 
good drop-kicks or chargers of you, take my 
word for it. You get plenty of good beer here, 
and that’s enough for you ; and drinking isn’t 
fine or manly, whatever some of you may think 
of it. 

“ One other thing I must have a word about. A 
lot of you think and say, for I’ve heard you, ‘ There’s 
this new Doctor hasn’t been here so long as some of 
us, and he’s changing all the old customs. Rugby, 
and the school-house especially, are going to the 
dogs. Stand up for the good old ways, and down 
with the Doctor ! ’ Now I’m as fond of old Rugby 
customs and ways as any of you, and I’ve been here 
longer than any of you, and I’ll give you a word of 
advice in time, for I shouldn’t like to see any of you 
getting sacked. ‘ Down with the Doctor ’ is easier 
said than done. You’ll find him pretty tight on his 
perch, 1 take it, and an awkwardish customer to 
handle in that line. Besides now, what customs 

13 




138 BROOKE STAKDETH TJP FOR “.THE DOCTOR.” 


has he put down ? There was the good old custom 
of taking the lynch-pins out of the farmers’ ana 
bagmen’s gigs at the fairs, and a cowardly black- 
guard custom it was. We all know what came of 
it, and no wonder the Doctor objected to it. But, 
come now, any of you, name a custom that he has 
put down.” 

“ The hounds,” calls out a fifth-form boy, clad in a 
green cutaway with brass buttons and cord trousers, 
the leader of the sporting interest, and reputed a 
great rider and keen hand generally. 

“ Well, we had six or seven mangey harriers and 
beagles belonging to the house, I’ll allow, and had 
had them for years, and that the Doctor put them 
down. But what good ever came of them ? Only 
rows with all the keepers for ten miles round ; and 
big-side Hare and Hounds, is better fun ten times 
over. What else?” 

No answer. 

“ Well, I won’t go on. Think it over for your- 
selves : you’ll find, I believe, that he don’t meddle 
with any one that’s worth keeping. And mind 
now, I say again, look out for squalls, if you will 
go your own way, and that way ain’t the Doctor’s, 
for it’ll lead to grief. You all know that I’m not 
the fellow to back a master through thick and 
thin. If I saw him stopping football, or cricket, 
or bathing, or sparring, I’d be as ready as any 
fellow to stand up about it. But he don’t — he 
encourages them; didn’t you see him out t**- 
day for half-an-hour watching us? (Loud cheers 
for the Doctor.) And he’s a strong true man, 


OLD BROOKE’S ADVICE. 


139 


and a wise one too, and a public-school man too. 
(Cheers.) And so let’s stick to him, and talk no 
more rot, and drink his health as the head of the 
house. (Loud cheers.) And now I’ve done blow- 
ing up, and very glad I am to have done. But it’s 
a solemn thing to be thinking of leaving a place 
which one has lived in and loved for eight years ; 
and if one can say a word for the good of the 
old house at such a time, why it should be said, 
whether bitter or sweet. If I hadn’t been proud 
of the house and you — aye, no one knows how 
proud — I shouldn’t be blowing you up. And now 
let’s get to singing. But before I sit down I 
must give you a toast to be drunk with three- 
times-three and all the honours. It’s a toast 
which I hope every one of us, wherever he may 
go hereafter, will never fail to drink when he 
thinks of the brave bright days of his boyhood. 
It’s a toast which should bind us all together, 
and to those who’ve gone before, and who’ll 
come after us here. It is the dear old school- 
house — the best house of the best school in 
England ! ” 

My dear boys, old and young, you who have 
belonged, or do belong, to other schools and other 
houses, don’t begin throwing my poor little book 
abou£ the room, and abusing me and it, and vowing 
you’ll read no more when you get to this point. I 
allow, you’ve provocation for it. But, come now — 
would you, any of you, give a fig for a fellow who 
didn’t believe in, and stand up for his own house 
and his own school? You know you wouldn’t. 


140 


old brooke’s toast. 


Then don’t object to my cracking up the old school- 
house, Rugby. Haven’t I a right to do it, when I’m 
taking all the trouble of writing this true history for 
all of your benefits. If you ain’t satisfied, go and 
write the history of your own houses in your own 
times, and say all you know for your own schools 
and houses, provided it’s true, and I’ll read it with- 
out abusing you. 

The last few words hit the audience in their 
weakest place ; they had been not altogether enthu- 
siastic at several parts of old Brooke’s speech ; but 
“ the best house of the best school in England ” 
was too much for them all, and carried even the 
sporting and drinking interests off their legs into 
rapturous applause, and (it is to be hoped) resolu- 
tions to lead a new life, and remember old Brooke’s 
words ; which, however, they didn’t altogether do, as 
will appear hereafter. 

But it required all old Brooke’s popularity to 
carry down parts of his speech, especially that re- 
lating to the Doctor. For there are no such bigoted 
holders by established forms and customs, be they 
never so foolish or meaningless, as English school- 
boys, at least as the school-boys of our generation. 
We magnified into heroes every boy who had left, 
and looked upon him with awe and reverence, when 
he revisited the place a year or so afterwards on his 
way to or from Oxford or Cambridge ; and happy 
was the boy who remembered him, and sure of an 
audience as he expounded what he used to do and 
say, though it were sad enough stuff to make angels, 
not to say head-masters, weep. 


SCHOOL IDOLATRIES. 


141 


We looked upon every trumpery little custom 
and habit which had obtained in the school, as 
though it had been a law of the Medes and Per- 
sians, and regarded the infringement or variation of 
it as a sort of sacrilege. And the Doctor, than 
whom no man or boy had a stronger liking for old 
school customs, which were good and sensible, had, 
as has already been hinted, come into most decided 
collision with several which were neither the one or 
the other. And as old Brooke had said, when he 
came into collision with boys or customs, there was 
nothing for them but to give in or take themselves 
off ; because what he said had to be done, and no 
mistake about it. And this was beginning to be 
pretty clearly understood; the boys felt that there 
was a strong man over them, who would have things 
his own way ; and hadn’t yet learned that he was a 
wise and loving man also. His personal character 
and influence had not had time to make itself felt, 
except by a very few of the bigger boys with whom 
he came more directly in contact, and he was looked 
upon with great fear and dislike by the great ma- 
jority even of his own house. For he had found 
school and school-house in a state of monstrous 
license and misrule, and was still employed in the 
necessary but unpopular work of setting up order 
with a strong hand. 

However, as ha|> been said, old Brooke triumphed, 
and the boys cheered him, and then the Doctor. 
And then more songs 'came, and the healths of the 
other boys about to leave, who each made a speech, 
one flowery, another maudlin, a third prosy, and so 
on, which are not necessary to be here recorded. 

13 * 


142 


BREAK UP OF SINGING. 


Half-past nine struck in the middle of the per- 
formance of “ Auld Lang Syne,” a most obstreperous 
proceeding; during which there was an immense 
amount of standing with one foot on the table, 
knocking mugs together and shaking hands, with- 
out which accompaniments it seems impossible for 
the youth of Britain to take part in that famous old 
song. The under-porter of the school-house entered 
during the performance, bearing five or six long 
wooden candlesticks, with lighted dips in them, 
which he proceeded to stick into their holes in such 
part of the great tables as he could get at ; and then 
stood outside the ring till the end of the song, when 
he was hailed with shouts. 

“Bill, you old muff, the half-hour hasn’t struck.” 

“ Here, Bill, drink some cocktail,” “ Sing us a 
song, old boy,” “ Don’t you wish you may get the * 
table?” Bill drank the proffered cocktail not unwill- 
ingly, and putting down the empty glass remon- 
strated, “ Now, gentlemen, there’s only ten minutes 
to prayers, and we must get the hall straight.” 

Shouts of “ No, no,” and a violent effort to strike 
up “ Billy Taylor ” for the third time. Bill looked 
appealingly to old Brooke, who got up and stopped 
the noise. “Now then, lend a hand you young- 
sters, and get the tables back, clear away the Jugs 
and glasses. Bill’s right. Open the windows, War- 
ner.” The boy addressed, who sat by the long fopes, 
proceeded to pull up the great windows, and let in 
a clear fresh rush of night air, which made the 
candles flicker and gutter, and the fires roar. The 
circle broke up, each collaring his own jug, glass, 


LAST LOYAL STRAINS. 


143 


and song-book ; Bill pounced on the big table, and 
began to rattle it away to its place outside the 
buttery-door. The lower-passage boys carried off 
their small tables aided by their friends, while above 
all, standing on the great hall-table, a knot of un- 
tiring sons of harmony made night doleful by a 
prolonged performance of “ God save the King.” 
His Majesty King William IY. then reigned over 
us, a monarch deservedly popular amongst the boys 
addicted to melody, to whom he was chiefly known 
from the beginning of that excellent, if slightly vulgar 
song in which they much delighted — 

“ Come, neighbours all, both great and small, 

Perform your duties here, 

And loudly sing Live Billy our King, 

For bating the tax upon beer.” 

Others of the more learned in songs also celebrated 
his praises in a sort of ballad, which I take to have 
been written by some Irish loyalist. I have forgotten 
all but the chorus, which ran — 

“ God save our good King William, be his name for ever blest, 

He’s the father of all his people, and the guardian of all the rest.” 

In troth we were loyal subjects in those days, in a 
rough way. I trust that our successors make as 
much of her present Majesty, and, having regard to 
the greater refinement of the times, have adopted or 
written other songs equally hearty, but more civilized, 
in her honour. 

Then the quarter to ten struck, and the 
prayer-bell rang. The sixth and fifth-form boys 
ranged themselves in their school order along the 
wall, on either side of the great fires, the mid- 


144 


PRAYERS. 


die fifth and upper school-boys round the long 
table in the middle of the hall, and the lower 
school-boys round the upper part of the second 
long table, which ran down the side of the hall 
furthest from the fires. Here Tom found him- 
self at the bottom of all, in a state of mind and 
body not at all fit for prayers, as he thought ; 
and so tried hard to make himself serious, but 
couldn’t for the life of him, do anything but re- 
peat in his head the choruses of some of the 
songs, and stare at all the boys opposite, won- 
dering at the brilliancy of their waistcoats, and 
speculating what sort of fellows they were. The 
steps of the head-porter are heard on the stairs, 
and a light gleams at the door. “ Hush,” from 
the fifth-form boys who stand there, and then 
in strides the Doctor, cap on head, book in one 
hand, and gathering up his gown in the other. 
He walks up the middle, and takes his post 
by Warner, who begins calling over the names. 
The Doctor takes no notice of anything, but quietly 
turns over his book and finds the place, and then 
stands, cap in hand and finger in book, look- 
ing straight before his nose. He knows better 
than any one when to look, and when to see 
nothing; to-night is singing night, and there’s been 
lots of noise and no harm done ; nothing but beer 
drunk, and nobody the worse for it; though some 
of them do look hot and excited. So the Doctor 
sees nothing, but fascinates Tom in a horrible 
manner as he stands there, and reads out the 
Psalm in that deep, ringing, searching voice of 


TOSSING. 


145 


his. Prayers are over, and Tom still stares open- 
mouthed after the Doctor’s retiring figure, when he 
feels a pull at his sleeve, and turning round sees 
East. 

“ I say, were you ever tossed in a blanket ? ” 

“ No,” said T om ; “ why ? ” 

“’Cause there’ll be tossing to-night most likely, 
before the sixth come up to bed. So if you funk, 
you just come along and hide, or else they’ll catch 
you and toss you.” 

“ Were you ever tossed ? Does it hurt ? ” inquired 
Tom. 

“ Oh yes, bless you, a dozen times,” said East, as 
he hobbled along by Tom’s side up stairs. “ It don’t 
hurt unless you fall on the floor. But most fellows 
don’t like it.” 

They stopped at the fireplace in the top passage, 
where were a crowd of small boys whispering 
. together, and evidently unwilling to go up into the 
bedrooms. In a minute, however, a study door 
opened and a sixth-form boy came out, and off they 
all scuttled up the stairs, and then noiselessly dis- 
persed to their different rooms. Tom’s heart beat 
rather quick as he and East reached their room, but 
he had made up his mind. “ I shan’t hide, East,” 
said he. 

r “ Very well, old fellow,” replied East, evidently 
pleased ; “ no more shall I — they’ll be here for us 
directly.” 

The room was a great big one with a dozen beds 
in it, but not a boy that Tom could see, except East 
and himself. East pulled off his coat and waistcoat, 


146 


FLASHMAN MUZZLED. 


and then sat on the bottom of his bed, whistling 
and pulling off his boots ; Tom followed his ex- 
ample. 

A noise and steps are heard in the passage, the 
door opens, and in rush four or five great fifth-form 
boys, headed by Flash man in his glory. 

Tom and East slept in the further corner of the 
room, and were not seen at first. 

“ Gone to ground, eh? ” roared Flashman ; “ push 
’em out then, boys ! look under the beds : ” and he 
pulled up the little white curtain of the one nearest 
him. “ Who-o-op,” he roared, pulling away at the 
leg of a small boy, who held on tight to the leg of 
the bed, and sung out lustily for mercy. 

“ Here, lend a hand, one of you, and help me pull 
out this young howling brute. Hold your tongue, 
sir, or I’ll kill you.” 

“ Oh, please, Flashman, please, Walker, don’t toss 
me ! I’ll fag for you, I’ll do anything, only don’t toss 
me.” 

“ You be hanged,” said Flashman, lugging the 

wretched boy along, “ ’twon’t hurt you, you ! 

Come along, boys, here he is.” 

“ l say, Flashey,” sung out another of the big 
boys, “ drop that; you heard what old Pater Brooks 
said to-night. I’ll be hanged if we’ll toss any one 
against their will — no more bullying. Let him go, 
I say.” 

Flashman, with an oath and a kick, released his 
prey, who rushed headlong under his bed again, for 
fear they should change their minds, and crept along 
underneath the other beds, till he got under that 


EAST AND TOM DEVOTE THEMSELVES. 


147 


of the sixth-form boy, which he knew they daren’t 
disturb. 

“ There’s plenty of youngsters don’t care about 
it,” said Walker. “ Here, here’s Scud East — you’ll 
be tossed, won’t you, young ’un.” Scud was East’s 
nickname, or Black, as we called it, gained by his 
fleetness of foot. 

“ Yes,” said East, “ if you like, only mind my 
foot.” 

“ And here’s another who didn’t hide. Hullo! 
new boy, what’s your name, sir ? ” 

“ Brown.” 

u Well, Whitey Brown, you don’t mind being 
tost ? ” 

“ No,” said Tom, setting his teeth. 

“ Come along then, boys,” sung out Walker, and 
away they all went, carrying along Tom and East, 
to the intense relief of four or five other small boys, 
who crept out from under the beds and behind 
them. 

“ What a trump Scud is,” said one. “ They won’t 
come back here now.” 

“ And that new boy, too, he must be a good 
plucked one.” 

“ Ah, wait till he’s been tossed on to the floor ; see 
how he’ll like it then ! ” 

Meantime the procession went down the passage 
to Number 7, the largest room, and the scene of 
tossing, in the middle of which was a great open 
space. Here they joined other parties of the bigger 
boys, each with a captive or two, some willing to be 
tossed, some sullen, and some frightened to death. 


148 


PLEASURES OF TOSSING. 


At Walker’s suggestion, all who were afraid were 
let off, in honour of Pater Brooke’s speech. 

Then a dozen big boys seized hold of a blanket 
dragged from one of the beds. u In with Scud, 
quick, there’s no time to lose.” East was chucked 
into the blanket. “ Once, twice, thrice, and away!” 
up he went like a shuttlecock, but not quite up to the 
ceiling. 

“ Now, boys, with a will,” cried Walker, “ once, 
twice, thrice, and away ! ” This time he went clean 
up, and kept himself from touching the ceiling with 
his hand, and so again a third time, when he was 
turned out,* and up went another boy. And then 
came Tom’s turn. He lay quite still by East’s 
advice, and didn’t dislike the “ once, twice, thrice ; ” 
but the M away ” wasn’t so pleasant. They were in 
good wind now, and sent him slap up to the ceiling 
first time, against which his knees came rather 
sharply. But the moment’s pause before descending 
was the rub ; the feeling of utter helplessness, and of 
leaving his whole inside behind him sticking to the 
ceiling. Tom was very near shouting to be set 
down, when he found himself back in the blanket, 
but thought of East, and didn’t ; and so took his 
three tosses without a kick or a cry, and was called a 
young trump for his pains. 

He and East having earned it, stood now looking 
on. No catastrophe happened, as all the captives 
were cool hands, and didn’t struggle. This didn’t 
suit Flashman. What your real bully likes in toss- 
ing, is when the boys kick and struggle, or hold on 
to one side of the blanket, and so get pitched bodily 


A STOP PUT TO THE TOSSING. 


149 


on to the floor ; it’s no fun to him when no one is 
hurt or frightened. 

“Let’s toss two of them together, Walker,” sug v 
gested he. 

“ What a cursed bully you are, Flashey!” rejoined 
the other. “ Up with another one.” 

And so no two boys were tossed together, the pecu- 
liar hardship of which is, that it’s too much for human 
nature to lie still then and share troubles ; and so the 
wretched pair of small boys struggle in the air which 
shall fall a-top in the descent, to the no small risk of 
both falling out of the blanket, and the huge delight 
of brutes like Flashman. 

But now there’s a cry that the praepostor of the 
room is coming ; so the tossing stops, and all scatter 
to their different rooms, and Tom is left to turn in 
with the first day’s experience of a public school to 
meditate upon. 


14 



CHAPTER VII. 

SETTLING TO THE COLLAR. 

“ Says Giles, * ’Tis mortal hard to go, 

But if so be’s I must, 

I means to follow arter he 

As goes hisself the fust.’ ” — Ballad. 

Everybody, I suppose, knows the dreamy, delicious 
state in which one lies, half-asleep half-awake, while 
consciousness begins to return, after a sound night’s 
rest in a new place which we are glad to be in, fol- 
lowing upon a day of unwonted excitement and ex- 
ertion. There are few pleasanter pieces of life. The 
worst of it is that they last such a short time ; for, 
nurse them as you will, by lying perfectly passive in 
mind and body, you can’t make more than five 
minutes or so of them. After which time, the stupid, 
obtrusive, wakeful entity which we call “ I,” as im- 
patient as he is stiff-necked, spite of our teeth, will 
force himself back again, and take possession of us 
down to our very toes. 

It was in this state that Master Tom lay at half- 
past seven on the morning following the day of his 
arrival, and from his clean little white bed watched 
the movements of Bogle (the generic name by which 
the successive shoeblacks of the school-house were 
known), as he marched round from bed to bed col- 


WAKING. 


151 


lecting the dirty snoes and boots, and depositing 
clean ones in their places. 

There he lay, half doubtful as to where exactly in 
the universe he was, but conscious that he had made 
a step in life which he had been anxious to make. 
It was only just light as he looked lazily out of the 
wide windows, and saw the tops of the great elms, 
and the rooks circling about, and cawing remon- 
strances to the lazy ones of their commonwealth, be- 
fore starting in a body for the neighbouring ploughed 
fields. The noise of the room-door closing behind 
Bogle as he made his exit with the shoe-basket under 
his arm, roused him thoroughly, and he sat up in bed 
and looked round the room. What in the world 
could be the matter with his shoulders and loins ? 
He felt as if he had been severely beaten all down 
his back, the natural results of his performance at his 
first match. He drew up his knees and rested his 
chin on them, and went over all the events of yester- 
day, rejoicing in his new life, what he had seen of it, 
and all that was to come. 

Presently one or two of the other boys roused them- 
selves, and began to sit up and talk to one another in 
low tones. Then East, after a roll or two, came to 
an anchor also, and nodding to Tom, began examin- 
ing his ankle. 

“ What a pull,” said he, “ that it’s lie-in-bed* for I 
shall be as lame as a tree, I think.” 

It was Sunday morning, and Sunday lectures had 
not yet been established, so that nothing but break- 
fast intervened between bed and eleven o’clock 
chapel — a gap by no n)eans ( easy to fill up; in fact, 


152 


LIE-IN-BED MORNING. 


though received with the correct amount of grum- 
bling, the first lecture instituted by the Doctor shortly 
afterwards, was a great boon to the school. It was 
lie-in-bed, and no one was in a hurry to get up, 
especially in rooms where the sixth-form boy was 
a good-tempered fellow, as was the case in Tom’s 
room, and allowed the small boys to talk and laugh, 
and do pretty much what they pleased, so long as 
they didn’t disturb him. His bed was a bigger one 
than the rest, standing in the corner by the fireplace, 
with washing-stand and large basin by the side, 
where he lay in state with his white curtains tucked 
in so as to form a retiring place ; an a ful subject 
of contemplaticrn to Tom, who slept nearly oppo- 
site, and watched the great man rouse himself and 
take a book from under his pillow and begin reading, 
leaning his head on his hand and turning his back 
to the room. Soon, however, a noise of striving 
urchins arose, and muttered encouragements from 
the neighbouring boys, of — “Go it, Tadpole !” 
“ Now, young Green,” “ Haul away his blanket,” 
“ Slipper him on the hands.” Young Green and 
little Hall, commonly called Tadpole from his great 
black head and thin legs, slept side-by-side far away 
by the door, and were forever playing one another 
tricks, which usually ended, as on this morning, in 
open and violent collision ; and now, unmindful of 
all order and authority, there they were each hauling 
away at the other’s bedclothes with one hand, and 
with the other armed with a slipper, belabouring 
whatever portion of the body of his adversary came 
within reach. 


GETTING UP. 


153 


“ Hold that noise, up in the corner,” called out the 
praepostor, sitting up and looking round his curtains ; 
and the Tadpole and young Green sank down 
into their disordered beds, and then looking at his 
watch, added, “Hullo, past eight! whose turn for 
hot water? ” 

(Where the praepostor was particular in his ablu- 
tions, the fags in his room had to descend in turn to 
the kitchen, and beg or steal hot water for him ; and 
often the custom extended further, and two boys 
went down every morning to get a supply for the 
whole room.) 

“ East’s and Tadpole’s,” answered the senior fag, 
who kept the rota. 

“ I can’t go,” said East, “ I’m dead lame.” 

“ Well, be quick, some of you, that’s all,” said the 
great man, as he turned out of bed, and putting on 
his slippers went out into the great passage, which 
runs the whole length of the bedrooms, to get his 
Sunday habiliments out of his portmanteau. 

“ Let me go for you,” said Tom to East, “ I 
should like it.” 

u Well, thank’ee, that’s a good fellow. Just pull 
on your trousers, and take your jug and mine. 
Tadpole will show you the way.” 

And so Tom and the Tadpole, in nightshirts and 
trousers, started off down stairs, and through “ Thos’s 
hole,” as the little buttery where candles and beer, 
and bread and cheese were served out at night, was 
called ; across the school-house court, down a long 
passage and into the kitchen ; where, after some par- 
ley with the stalwart handsome cook, who declared 
u* 


154 


DESCENT ON THE KITCHEN. 


that she had filled a dozen jugs already, they got 
their hot water, and returned with all speed and great 
caution. As it was, they narrowly escaped capture 
by some privateers from the fifth-form rooms, who 
were on the look-out for the hot-water convoys, and 
pursued them up to the very door of their room, 
making them spill half their load in the passage. 
u Better than going down again though,” as Tadpole 
remarked, “as we should have had to do if those 
beggars had caught us.” 

By the time that the calling-over bell rang, Tom 
and his new comrades were all down, dressed in 
their best clothes, and he had the satisfaction of 
answering “ here,” to his name, for the first time, the 
praepostor of the week having put it in at the bottom 
of his list. And then came breakfast, and a saunter 
about the close and town with East, whose lameness 
only became severe when any fagging had to be done. 
And so they whiled away the time until morning 
chapel. 

It was a fine November morning, and the close 
soon became alive with boys of all ages, who saun- 
tered about on the grass or walked round the gravel- 
walk in parties of two or three. East still doing 
the cicerone, pointed out all the remarkable charac- 
ters to Tom as they passed ; Osbert, who could 
throw a cricket-ball from the little-side ground over 
the rook trees to the Doctor’s wall ; Gray, who had 
got the Balliol scholarship, and, what East evidently 
thought of much more importance, a half holiday 
for the school by his success ; Thorne, who had run 
ten miles in two minutes over the' hour j Black, who 


THE “ CLOSE ” BEFORE CHAPEL. 


155 


had held his own against the cock of the town in 
the last row with the louts ; and many more heroes, 
who then and there walked about and were wor- 
shipped, all trace of whom has long since vanished 
from the scene of their fame ; and the fourth-form 
boy, who reads their names rudely cut out on the old 
hall tables, or painted up on the Big-side cupboard 
(if hall tables and Big-side cupboard still exist), 
w r onders what manner of boys they were. It will 
be the same with you who wonder, my sons, what- 
ever your prowess may be, in cricket, or scholarship, 
or football. Two or three years more or less, and 
then the steadily advancing, blessed wave will pass 
over your names as it has passed over ours. Never- 
theless, play your games and do your work manfully 
— see only that that be done, and let the remem- 
brance of it take care of itself. 

The chapel-bell began to ring at a quarter to 
eleven, and Tom got in early and took his place in 
the lowest row, and watched all the other boys come 
in and take their places, filling row »after row ; and 
tried to construe the Greek text which was inscribed 
over the door with the slightest possible success, 
and wondered which of the masters, who walked 
down the chapel and took their seats in the exalted 
boxes at the end, would be his lord. And then came 
the closing of the doors, and the Doctor in his robes, 
and the service, which, however, didn’t impress him 
much, for his feeling of wonder and curiosity was 
too strong. And the boy on one side of him was 
scratching his name on the oak panelling in front, 
and he couldn’t help watching to see what the 


156 


MORNING CHAPEL. 


name was, and whether it was well scratched ; and 
the boy on the other side went to sleep and kept 
falling against him ; and on the whole, though many 
boys even in that part of the school were serious 
and attentive, the general atmosphere was by no 
means devotional ; and when he got out into the 
close again, he didn’t feel at all comfortable, or as if 
he had been to church. 

But at afternoon chapel it was quite another thing. 
He had spent the time after dinner 4 in writing home 
to his mother, and so was in a better frame of 
mind, and his first curiosity was over, and he 
could attend more to the service. As the hymn 
after the prayers was being sung, and the chapel 
was getting a little dark, he was beginning to feel 
that he had been really worshipping. And then 
came that great event in his, as in every Rugby 
boy’s life of that day — the first sermon from the 
Doctor. 

More worthy pens than mine have described that 
scene. The o^k pulpit standing out by itself, above 
the school seats. The tall gallant form, the kind- 
ling eye, the voice, now soft as the low notes of a 
flute, now clear and stirring as the call of the light 
infantry bugle, of him who stood there Sunday after 
Sunday, witnessing and pleading for his Lord, the 
King of righteousness and love and glory, with whose 
spirit he was filled, and in whose power he spoke. 
The long lines of young faces rising tier above tier 
down the whole length of the chapel, from the little 
boy’s who had just left his mother to the young 
man’s who was going out next week into the great 


AFTERNOON CHAPEL. 


157 


world rejoicing in his strength. It was a great and 
solemn sight, and never more so than at this time of 
year, when the only lights in the chapel were in the 
pulpit and at the seats of the praepostors of the week, 
and the soft twilight stole over the rest of the chapel, 
deepening into darkness in the high gallery behind 
the organ. •- 

But what was it after all which seized and held 
these three hundred boys, dragging them out of 
themselves, willing or unwilling, for twenty minutes 
on Sunday afternoons ? True, there always were 
boys scattered up and down the school, who, in 
heart and head, were worthy to hear and able to 
carry away the deepest and wisest words then 
spoken. But these were a minority always, gen- 
erally a very small one, often §o small a one as to 
be countable on the fingers of your hand. What 
was it that moved and held us, the rest of the three 
hundred reckless childish boys, who feared the Doc- 
tor with all our hearts, and very little besides in 
heaven or earth ; who thought more of our sets 
in the school than of the church of Christ, and put 
the traditions of Rugby and the public opinion of 
boys in our daily life above the laws of God ? We 
couldn’t enter into half that we heard; we hadn’t 
the knowledge of our own hearts or the knowledge 
of one another, and little enough of the faith, hope, 
and love needed to that end. But we listened, as 
all boys in their better moods will listen (aye, and 
man too for the matter of that), to a man who we 
felt to be with all his heart and soul and strength 
striving against whatever was mean and unmanly 


158 


THE SERMON. 


md unrighteous in our little world. It was not the 
told clear voice of one giving advice and warning 
from serene heights, to those who were struggling 
and sinning below, but the warm living voice of one 
who was fighting for us and by our sides, and call- 
ing on us to help him and ourselves and one another. 
And so, wearily and little by little, but surely and 
steadily on the whole, was brought home to the 
young boy, for the first time, the meaning of his 
life : that it was no fool’s or sluggard’s paradise into 
which he had wandered by chance, but a battle- 
field, ordained from of old, where there are no spec- 
tators, but the youngest must take his side, and 
the stakes are life and death. And he who roused 
this consciousness in them, showed them at the 
same time, by every word he spoke in the pulpit, 
and by his whole daily life, how that battle was 
to be fought ; and stood there before them their 
fellow-soldier and the captain of their band. The 
true sort of captain too for a boy’s army, one who 
had no misgivings and gave no uncertain word of 
command, and, let who would yield or make truce, 
would fight the fight out (so every boy felt) to 
the last gasp and the last drop of blood. Other 
sides of his character might take hold of and influ- 
ence boys here and there, but it was this thorough- 
ness and undaunted courage which more than any 
thing else won his way to the hearts of the great 
mass of those on whom he left his mark, and made 
them believe first in him, and then in his Master. 

It was this quality above all others which moved 
such boys as our hero, who had nothing whatever 


THE DOCTOR’S FIRST HOLD. 


159 


remarkable about him except excess of boyishness ; 
by which I mean animal life in its fullest measure, 
good nature and honest impulses, hatred or injustice 
and meanness, and thoughtlessness enough to sink 
a three-decker. And so during the next two years, 
in which it was more than doubtful whether he 
would get good or evil from the school, and before 
any steady purpose or principle grew up in him, 
whatever his week’s sins and shortcomings might 
have been, he hardly ever left the chapel on Sunday 
evenings without a serious resolve to stand by and 
follow the Doctor, and a feeling that it was only 
cowardice (the incarnation of all other sins in such a 
boy’s mind) which hindered him from doing so with 
all his heart. 

The next day Tom was duly placed in the third- 
form, and began his lessons in a corner of. the big 
school. He found the work very easy, as he had 
been well grounded and knew his grammar by 
heart, and as he had no intimate companion to 
make him idle, (East and his other school-house 
friends being in the lower-fourth, the form above 
him,) soon gained golden opinions from his master, 
who said he was placed too low, and should be 
put out at the end of the half-year. So all went 
well with him in school, and he wrote the most 
flourishing letters home to his mother, full of his 
own success and the unspeakable delights of a 
public school. 

In the house, too, all went well. The end of .the 
half-year was drawing near, which kept everybody 
in a good humour, and the house was ruled well and 


160 DAILY LIFE HOUSE FAGGING. 

* K 

strongly by Warner and Brooke. True, the general 
system was rough and hard, and there was bully- 
ing in nooks and corners, bad signs for the future ; 
but it never got further, or dared show itself openly, 
stalking about the passages and hall and bedrooms, 
and making the life of the small boys a continual 
fear. 

Tom, as a new boy, was of right excused fagging 
for the first month, but in his enthusiasm for his 
new life this privilege hardly pleased him; and 
East and others of his young friends discovering 
this, kindly allowed him to indulge his fancy, and 
take their turns at night fagging and cleaning 
studies. These were the principal duties of the 
fags in the house. From supper until nine o’clock, 
three fags, taken in order, stood in the passages, 
and answered any praepostor who called Fag, rac- 
ing to his door, the last comer having to do the 
work. This consisted generally of going to the 
buttery for beer and bread and cheese, (for the 
great men did not sup with the rest, but had each 
his own allowance in his study or the fifth-form 
room,) cleaning candlesticks and putting in new 
candles, toasting cheese, bottling beer, and carrying 
messages about the house ; and Tom, in the first 
blush of his hero-worship, felt it a high privilege 
to receive orders from, and be the bearer of the 
supper of old Brooke. And besides this night-work, 
each praepostor had three or four fags specially al- 
lotted to him, of whom he was supposed to be the 
guide, philosopher, and friend, and who in return for 
these good offices had to clean out his study every 


HAEE-AND-HOUNDS. 


161 


morning by turns, directly after first lesson and be- 
fore he returned from breakfast. And the pleasure 
of seeing the great men’s studies, and looking at their 
pictures, and peeping into their books, made Tom 
a ready substitute for any boy who was too lazy 
to do his own work. And so he soon gained the 
character of a good-natured willing fellow, who 
was ready to do a turn for any one. 

In all the games too, he joined with all his heart, 
and soon became well versed in all the mysteries 
of football by continued practice at the school- 
house little-side, which played daily. The only in- 
cident worth recording here, however, was his first 
run at Hare-and-hounds. On the last Tuesday but 
one of the half-year, he was passing through the 
hall after dinner, when he was hailed with shouts 
from Tadpole and several other fags seated at one 
of the long tables, the chorus of which was, “ Come 
and help us tear up scent.” 

Tom approached the table in obedience to the 
mysterious summons, always ready to help, and 
found the party engaged in tearing up old news- 
papers, copy-books and magazines, into small pieces, 
with which they were filling four large canvas bags. 

“ It’s the turn of our house to find scent for Big- 
side Hare-and-hounds,” explained Tadpole ; “ tear 
a Way, there’s no time to lose before calling-over.” 

“ I think it’s a great shame,” said another small 
boy, “ to have such a hard run for the last day.” 

“ Which run is it ? ” said Tadpole. 

“ Oh, the Barby run, I hear,” answered the other, 
M nine miles at least, and hard ground ; no chance 

15 


162 


THE MEET. 


of getting in at the finish, unless you’re a first-rate 
scud.” 

“ Well, I’m going to have a try,” said Tadpole ; 
“ it’s the last run of the half, and if a fellow gets in at 
the end, Big-side stands ale and bread and cheese, 
and a bowl of punch ; and the Cock’s such a famous 
place for ale.” 

“ I should like to try too,” said Tom. 

“ Well, then, leave your waistcoat behind, and 
listen at the door after calling-over, and you’ll hear 
where the meet is.” 

After calling-over, sure enough, there were two 
boys at the door, calling out, “ Big-side Hare-and- 
hounds meet at White Hall;” and Tom having 
girded himself with leather strap, and left all super- 
fluous clothing behind, set off .for White Hall, an 
old gable-ended house some quarter of a mile from 
the town, with East, whom he had persuaded to 
join, notwithstanding his prophecy that they would 
never get in, as it was the hardest run of the 
year. 

At the meet they found some forty or fifty boys, 
and Tom felt sure, from having seen many of them 
run at football, that he and East were more likely to 
get in than they. 

After a few minutes’ waiting, two well-known 
runners, chosen for the hares, buckled on the four 
bags filled with scent, compared their watches with 
those of young Brooke and Thorne, and started off 
at a long slinging trot across the fields in the direc- 
tion of Barby. 

Then the hounds clustered round Thorne, who 


THE FIRST BURST. 


1G3 


explained shortly, “ They’re to have six minutes’ 
law. We run into the Cock, and every one who 
comes in within a quarter-of-an-hour of the hares ’ll 
be counted, if he has been round Barby church.” 
Then came a minute’s pause or so, and then the 
watches are pocketed, and the pack is led through 
the gateway into the field which the hares had first 
crossed. Here they break into a trot, scattering 
over the field to find the first traces of the scent 
which the hares throw out as they go along. The 
old hounds make straight for the likely points, and 
in a minute a cry of “ forward ” comes from one 
of them, and the whole pack quickening their pace 
make for the spot, while the boy who hit the scent 
first, and the two or three nearest., to him are over 
the first fence, and making play along the hedgerow 
in the long grass-field beyond. The rest of the pack 
rush at the gap already made and scramble through, 
jostling one another. “ Forward” again, before they 
are half through ; the pace quickens into a sharp 
run, the tail hounds all straining to get up with the 
lucky leaders. They are gallant hares, and the scent 
lies thick right across another meadow and into a 
ploughed field, where the pace begins to tell ; then 
over a good wattle with a ditch on the other side, 
and down a large pasture studded with old thorns, 
which slopes down to the first brook ; the great 
Leicestershire sheep charge away across the field as 
the pack come racing down the slope. The brook 
is a small one, and the scent lies right ahead up the 
opposite slope, and as thick as ever ; not a turn or a 
check to favour the tail hounds, who strain on, now 


164 


THE FIRST CHECK. 


trailing in a long line, many a youngster beginning 
to drag his legs heavily and feel his heart beat like a 
hammer, and the bad plucked ones thinking that 
after all it isn’t worth while to keep it up. 

Tom, East, and the Tadpole had a good start, 
and are well up for such young hands, and after 
rising the slope and crossing the next field, find 
themselves up with the leading hounds who have 
overrun the scent and are trying back ; they have 
come a mile and a half in about eleven minutes, a 
pace which shows that it is the last day. About 
twenty-five of the original starters only show here, 
the rest having already given in ; the leaders are 
busy making casts into the fields on the left and 
right, and the others get their second winds. 

Then comes the cry of “ forward ” again, from 
young Brooke, from the extreme left, and the pack 
settles down to work again steadily and doggedly, 
the whole keeping pretty well together. The scent 
though still good is not so thick ; there is no need 
of that, for in this part of the run every one knows 
the line which must be taken, and so there are no 
casts to be made, but good downright running and 
fencing to be done. All who are now up mean 
coming in, and they come to the foot of Barby Hill 
without losing more than two or three more of the 
pack. This last straight two miles and a half is 
always a vantage ground for the hounds, and the 
hares know it well ; they are generally viewed on 
the side of Barby Hill, and all eyes are on the look- 
out for them to-day. But not a sign of them ap- 
pears, so now will be the hard work for hounds, and 


NO GO. 


165 


there is nothing for it but to cast about for the 
scent, for it is now the hare’s turn, and they may 
baffle the pack dreadfully in the next two miles. 

Ill fares it now with our youngsters that they are 
school-house boys, and so follow young Brooke, for 
he takes the wide casts round to the left, conscious 
of his own powers, and loving the hard work. For 
if you would consider for a moment, you small 
boys, you would remember that the Cock, where 
the run ends, and the good ale will be going, lies 
far out to the right on the Dunchurch road, so that 
every cast you take to the left is so much extra 
work. And at this stage of the run, when the even- 
ing is closing in already, no one remarks whether you 
run a little cunning or not, so you should stick to 
those crafty hounds who keep edging away to the 
right, and not follow a prodigal like young Brooke, 
whose legs are twice as long as yours and of cast- 
iron, wholly indifferent to two or three miles more or 
less. However, they struggle after him, sobbing and 
plunging along, Tom and East pretty close, and 
Tadpole, whose big head begins to pull him down, 
some thirty yards behind. 

Now comes a brook, with stiff clay banks, from 
which they can hardly drag their legs, and they hear 
faint cries for help from the wretched Tadpole who 
has fairly stuck fast. But they have too little run 
left in themselves to pull up for their own brothers 
Three fields more, and another check, and then “ for- 
ward ” called away to the extreme right. 

The two boys’ souls died within them, they can 
never do it. Young Brooke thinks so too, and says 
15 * 


166 


THE REACTION. 


kindly, * You’ll cross a lane after next field, keep 
down it, and you’ll hit the Dunchurch road below 
the Cock,” ^nd then steams away for the run in, in 
which he’s sure to be first, as if he were just start* 
ing. They struggle on across the next field, the 
“forward” getting fainter and fainter, and then 
ceasing. The whole hunt is out of ear-shot, and 
all hope of coming in is over. 

“ Hang it all,” broke out East, as soon as he had 
got wind enough, pulling off his hat and mopping 
at his face, all spattered with dirt and lined with 
sweat, from which went up a thick steam into the 
still cold air. “ I told you how it would be. What 
a thick I was to come. Here we are dead beat, and 
yet I know we’re close to the run in, if we knew the 
country. 

“ Well,” said Tom, mopping away, and gulping 
down his disappointment, “ it can’t be helped. We 
did our best any how. Hadn’t we better find this 
lane, and go down it as young Brooke told us ? ” 

u I suppose so — nothing else for it,” grunted East. 
“ If ever I go out last day again,” growl — growl — 
growl. 

So they tried back slowly and sorrowfully, and 
found the lane, and went limping down it, plashing 
in the cold puddly ruts, and beginning to feel how 
the run had taken it out of them. The evening 
closed in fast, and clouded over, dark, cold, and 
dreary. 

“ I say, it must be locking-up, I should think,” 
remarked East, breaking the silence, “ it’s so dark.” 

“ What if we’re late ? ” said Tom. 


THE “ PIG AND WHISTLE . 1 


167 


“ No tea, and sent up to the Doctor,” answered 
East. 

The thought didn’t add to their cheerfulness. 
Presently a faint halloo was heard from an adjoin- 
ing field. They answered it and stopped, hoping 
for some competent rustic to guide them, when over 
a gate some twenty yards ahead, crawled the 
wretched Tadpole, in a state of collapse ; he had 
lost a shoe in the brook, and been groping after it 
up to his elbows in the stiff wet clay, and a more 
miserable creature in the shape of boy seldom has 
been seen. 

The sight of him, notwithstanding, cheered them, 
for he was some degrees more wretched than they. 
They also cheered him, as he was now no longer 
under the dread of passing his night alone in the 
fields. And so in better heart the three plashed 
painfully down the never-ending lane. At last it 
widened, just as utter darkness set in, and they 
came out on to a turnpike-road, and there paused 
bewildered, for they had lost all bearings, and knew 
not whether to turn to the right or left. 

Luckily for them they had not to decide, for lum- 
bering along the road, with one lamp lighted, and 
two spavined horses in the shafts, came a heavy 
coach, which after a moment’s suspense they recog- 
nized as the Oxford coach, the redoubtable Pig and 
Whistle. 

It lumbered slowly up, and the boys mustering 
their last run, caught it as it passed, and began 
scrambling up behind, in which exploit East missed 
his footing and fell flat on his nose along the road. 


168 


HOME AT LAST. 


Then the others hailed the old scarecrow of a coach 
man, who pulled up and agreed to take them in for 
a shilling; so there they sat on the back seat drub- 
bing with their heels, and their teeth chattering with 
cold, and jogged into Rugby some forty minutes after 
locking-up. 

Five minutes afterwards, three small limping shiv- 
ering figures steal along through the Doctor s gar- 
den, and into the house by the servants’ entrance 
(all the other gates have been closed long since), 
where the first thing they light upon in the passage 
is old Thomas, ambling along, candle in one hand 
and keys in the other. 

He stops and examines their condition with a 
grim smile. “Ah! East, Hall, and Brown, late for 
locking-up. Must go up to the Doctor’s study at 
once.” 

“Well, but, Thomas, mayn’t we go and wash first? 
You can put down the time you know.” 

“Doctor’s study d’rectly you come in — that’s the 
orders,” replied old Thomas, motioning towards the 
stairs at the end of the passage which led up into 
the Doctor’s house; and the boys turned ruefully 
down it, not cheered by the old verger’s muttered 
remark, “ What a pickle they boys be in.” Thomas 
referred to their faces and habiliments, but they con- 
strued it as indicating the Doctor’s state of mind. 
Upon the short flight of stairs they pause to hold 
counsel. 

“Who’ll go in first?” inquires Tadpole. 

“You — you’re the senior,” answered East. 

“Catch me — look at the state I’m in,” rejoined 


CONSEQUENCES. 


169 


Hall, showing the arms of his jacket. “I must get 
behind you two.” 

Well, but look at me,” said East, indicating the 
mass of clay behind which he was standing; “I’m 
worse than you, two to one ; you might grow cab- 
bages in my trousers.” 

“ That’s all down below, and you can keep your 
legs behind the sofa,” said Hall. 

“ Here, Brown, you’re the show-figure — you must 
lead.” 

“ But my face is all muddy,” argued Tom. 

“Oh, we’re all in one boat for that matter; but 
come on, we’re only making it worse dawdling 
here.” 

“ Well, just give us a brush then,” said Tom ; and 
they began trying to rub off the superfluous dirt from 
each other’s jackets, but it was not dry enough, and 
the rubbing made it worse ; so in despair they pushed 
through the swing door at the head of the stairs, and 
found themselves in the Doctor’s hall. 

“ That’s the library door,” said East in a whisper, 
pushing Tom forwards. The sound of merry voices 
and laughter came from within, and his first hesita- 
ting knock was unanswered. But at the second, the 
Doctor’s voice said “ Come in,” and Tom turned the 
handle, and he, with the others behind, sidled into 
the room. 

The Doctor looked up from his task; he was 
working away with a great chisel at the bottom of 
a boy’s sailing boat, the lines of which he was no 
doubt fashioning on the model of one of Nicias’ 
galleys. Round him stood three or four children ; 


170 


THEIR RECEPTION. 


the candles burnt brightly on a large table at the 
further end, covered with books and papers, and a 
great fire threw a ruddy glow over the rest of the 
room. All looked so kindly and homely and com- 
fortable, that the boys took heart in a moment, and 
Tom advanced from behind the shelter of the great 
sofa. The Doctor nodded to the children, who 
went out, casting curious and amused glances at 
the three young scarecrows. 

“ Well, my little fellows,” began the Doctor, 
drawing himself up, with his back to the fire, the 
chisel in one hand and his coat-tails in the other, 
and his eye twinkling as he looked them over; 
“what makes you so late?” 

“ Please, sir, we’ve been out Big-side Hare-and- 
hounds, and lost our way.” 

“ Hah ! you couldn’t keep up, I suppose ? ” 

“ Well, sir,” said East, stepping out, and not lik- 
ing that the Doctor should think lightly of his run- 
ning powers, “we got round Barby all right, but 
then — ” # 

“ Why, what a state you’re in, my boy,” interrupt- 
ed the Doctor, as the pitiful condition of East’s gar- 
ments was fully revealed to him. 

“ That’s the fall I got sir, in the road,” said East, 
looking down at himself; “the old Pig came by — ” 

“ The what? ” said the Doctor. 

“ The Oxford coach, sir,” explained Hall. 

“ Hah ! yes, the Regulator,” said the Doctor. 

“ And I tumbled on my face, trying to get up be 
hind,” went on East. 

“ You’re not hurt, I hope,” said the Doctor. 


XiAST DAYS. 


171 


Oh no, sir.” 

“ Well now, run up stairs, all three of you, and 
get clean things on, and then tell the housekeeper to 
give you some tea. You’re too young to try such 
long runs. Let Warner know I’ve seen you. Good 
night.” 

“ Good night, sir.” And away scuttled the three 
boys in high glee. 

“ What a brick, not to give us even twenty lines 
to learn,” said the Tadpole, as they reached their 
bedroom, and in half-an-hour afterwards they were 
sitting by the fire in the housekeeper’s room at a 
sumptuous tea with cold meat, “ twice as good a 
grub as we should have got in the hall,” as the Tad- 
pole remarked with a grin, his mouth full of buttered 
toast. All their grievances were forgotten, and they 
were resolving to go out the first big-side next half, and 
thinking Hare-and-hounds the most delightful of 
games. 

A day or two afterwards the great passage outside 
the bedrooms was cleared of the boxes and port- 
manteaus, which went down to be packed by the 
matron, and great games of chariot-racing, and cock- 
fighting, and bolstering went on in the vacant space, 
the sure sign of a closing half-year. 

Then came the making up of parties for the jour- 
ney home, and Tom joined a party who were to hire 
a coach, and post with four horses to Oxford. 

Then the last Saturday, on which the Doctor 
came round to each form to give out the prizes, and 
hear the masters’ last reports of how they and their 
charges had been conducting themselves ; and Tom, 


172 


a financier’s troubles. 


to his huge delight, was praised, and got his remove 
into the lower-fourth, in which all his school-house 
friends were. 

On the next Tuesday morning, at four o’clock, hot 
coffee was going on in the housekeeper’s and ma- 
tron’s rooms ; boys wrapped in great coats and muf- 
flers were swallowing hasty mouthfuls, rushing about, 
tumbling over luggage, and asking questions all at 
once of the matron ; outside the school-gates were 
drawn up several chaises and the four-horse coach 
which Tom’s party had chartered, the post-boys in 
their best jackets and breeches, and a cornopean- 
player hired for the occasion, blowing away “ A 
southerly wind and a cloudy sky,” waking all peace- 
ful inhabitants half-way down the High street. 

Every minute the bustle and hubbub increased, 
porters staggered about with boxes and bags, the 
cornopean played louder. Old Thomas sat in his 
den with a great yellow bag by his side, out of 
which he was paying journey-money to each boy, 
comparing by the light of a solitary dip, the dirty 
crabbed little list in his own handwriting with the 
Doctor’s list and the amount of his cash ; hity head 
was on one side, his mouth screwed up, an& his 
spectacles dim from early toil. He had prudently 
locked the door and carried on his operations solely 
through the window, or he would have been driven 
wild and lost all his money. 

“ Thomas, do be quick, we shall never catch the 
Highflyer at Dunchurch.” 

“ That’s your money, all right, Green.” 

u Hullo, Thomas, the Doctor said I was to have 

N. 


OFF. 


173 


two-pound-ten ; you’ve only given me two pound.” 
I fear that Master Green is not confining himself 
strictly to truth. Thomas turns his head more on 
one side than ever, and spells away at the dirty list. 
Green is forced away from the window. 

“ Here, Thomas, never mind him, mine’s thirty 
shillings.” “ And mine too,” “ and mine,” shouted 
others. 

One way or another, the party to which Tom 
belonged all got packed and paid, and sallied out to 
the gates, the cornopean playing frantically “ Drops 
of brandy,” in allusion probably to the slight pota- 
tions in which the musician and post-boys had been 
already indulging. All luggage was carefully 
stowed away inside the coach and in the front and 
hind boots, so that not a hatbox was visible outside. 
Five, or six small boys with pea-shooters, and the 
cornopean-player got up behind ; in front the big 
boys, mostly smoking, not for pleasure, but be- 
cause they are now gentlemen at large, — and this 
is the most correct public method of notifying the 
fact. 

“ Robinson’s coach will be down the road in a 
minute, it has gone up to Bird’s to pick up, — we’ll 
wait till they’re close and make a race of it,” says 
the leader. “ Now, boys, half-a-sovereign apiece if 
you beat’em into Dunchurch by one hundred yards.” 

“ All right, sir,” shout the grinning post-boys. 

Down comes Robinson’s coach in a minute or 
two, with a rival cornopean, and away go the two 
vehicles, horses galloping, boys cheering, horns play- 
ing loud. There is a special Providence over school 
16 




174 


DULCE DOMUM. 


boys as well as sailors, or they must have upset 
twenty times in the first five miles ; sometimes 
actually abreast of one another, and the boys on the 
roofs exchanging volleys of peas, now nearly running 
over a post-chaise which had started before them, 
now half-way up a bank, now with a wheel-and-a- 
half over a yawning ditch ; and all this in a dark 
morning, with nothing but their own lamps to guide 
them. However, it’s all over at last, and they have 
run over nothing but an old pig in Southam street, 
the last peas are distributed in the Corn Market at 
Oxford, where they arrive between eleven and 
twelve, and sit down to a sumptuous breakfast at 
the Angel, which they are made to pay for accord- 
ingly. Here the party breaks up, all going now differ- 
ent ways, and Tom orders out a chaise and pair as 
grand as a lord, though he has scarcely five shillings 
left in his pocket, and more than twenty miles to get 
home. 

“ Where to, sir ? ” 

“ Red Lion, Farringdon,” says Tom, giving host- 
ler a shilling. 

“ All right, sir. Red Lion, Jem,” to the post-boy, 
and Tom rattles away towards home. At Farring- 
don, being known to the innkeeper, he gets that 
worthy to pay for the Oxford horses, and forward 
him in another chaise at once ; and so the gorgeous 
young gentleman arrives at the paternal mansion, 
and Squire Brown looks rather blue at having to 
pay two-pound ten shillings for the posting expenses 
from Oxford. But the boy’s intense joy at getting 
home, and the wonderful health he is in, and the 


DTTLCE DOMUM. 


175 


good character he brings, and the brave stories he 
tells of Rugby, its doings and delights, soon mollify 
the Squire, and three happier people didn’t sit down 
to dinner that day in England (it is the boy’s first 
dinner at six o’clock at home, great promotion 
already), than the Squire and his wife, and Tom 
Brown, at the end of his first half-year at Rugby. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


.THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. 

“ They are slaves who will not choose 
Hatred, scoffing, and abuse. 

Rather than in silence shrink 

From the truth they needs must think : 

They are slaves who dare not be 
In the right with two or three. ” 

Lowell, Stanzas on Freedom . 

The lower-fourth form in which Tom found him- 
self at the beginning of the next half-year, was the 
largest form in the lower school, and numbered 
upwards of forty boys. Young gentlemen of all 
ages, from nine to fifteen, were to be found there, 
who expended such part of their energies as was 
devoted to Latin and Greek, upon a book of Livy, 
the Bucolics of Virgil, and the Hecuba of Euripides, 
which were ground out in small daily portions. 
The driving of this unlucky lower-fourth must have 
been grievous work to the unfortunate master, for 
it was the most unhappily constituted of any in the 
school. Here stuck the great stupid boys, who for 
the life of them could never master the accidence ; 
the objects alternately of mirth and terror to the 
youngsters, who were daily taking them up, and 
laughing at them in lesson, and getting kicked by 
them for so doing in play-hours. There were no 
less than three unhappy fellows in tail coats, with 


THE LOWER-FOURTH. 


m 

incipent iown on their chins, whom the Doctor and 
the master of the form were always endeavouring to 
hoist into the upper school, but whose parsing and 
construing resisted the most well-meant shoves. 
Then came the mass of the form, boys of eleven 
and twelve, the most mischievous and reckless age 
of British youth, of whom East and Tom Brown 
were fair specimens. As full of tricks as monkeys, 
and of excuses as Irish women, making fun of their 
master, one another, and their lessons, Argus him- 
self would have been puzzled to keep an eye on 
them ; and as for making them steady or serious for 
half an hour together it was simply hopeless. The 
remainder of the form consisted of young prodigies 
of nine and ten, who were going up the school at the 
rate of a form a half-year, all boys’ hands and wits 
being against them in their progress. It would have 
been one man’s work to see that the precocious 
youngsters had fair play ; and as the master had a 
good deal besides to do, they hadn’t, and were for 
ever being shoved down three or four places, their 
verses stolen, their books inked, their jackets whiten- 
ed, and their lives otherwise made a burden to them. 

The lower-fourth, and all the forms below it, were 
heard in the great school, and were not trusted to 
prepare their lessons before coming in, but were 
whipped into school three-quarters of an hour before 
the lesson began by their respective masters, and 
there scattered about on the benches, with dictionary 
and grammar, hammered out their twenty lines of 
Virgil or Euripides in the midst of Babel. The 
masters of the lower school walked up and down 
16 * 


THE LOWER-FOURTH. 


the great school together during this three-quarters 
of an hour, or sat in their desks reading or looking 
over copies, and keeping such order as was possible. 
But the lower-fourth was just now an overgrown 
form, too large for any one man to attend to prop- 
erly, and consequently the elysium or ideal form of 
the young scapegraces who formed the staple of it. 

Tom, as has been said, had come up from the 
third with a good character, but the temptations of 
the lower-fourth soon proved too strong for him, and 
he rapidly fell away, and became as unmanageable 
as the rest. For some weeks, indeed, he succeeded 
in maintaining the appearance of steadiness, and 
was looked upon favourably by his new master, 
whose eyes were first opened by the following little 
incident. 

Besides the desk which the master himself occu- 
pied, there was another large unoccupied desk in the 
corner of the great school, which was untenanted. 
To rush and seize upon this desk, which was as- 
cended by three steps, and held four boys, was the 
great object of ambition of the lower-fourthers ; and 
the contentions for the occupation of it bred such 
disorder, that at last the master forbade its use 
altogether. This of course was a challenge to the 
more adventurous spirits to occupy it, and as it was 
capacious enough for two boys to lie hid there com- 
pletely, it was seldom that it remained empty not- 
withstanding the veto. Small holes were cut in the 
front, through which the occupants watched the 
masters as they walked up and down, and as les- 
son time approached, one boy at a time stole out 


tom’s tall. 


179 


and down the steps, as the masters’ backs were 
turned, and mingled with the general crowd on the 
forms below. Tom and East had successfully oc- 
cupied the desk some half dozen times, and were 
grown so reckless that they were in the habit of 
playing small games with fives’-balls inside, when 
the masters were at the other end of the big school. 
One day, as ill luck would have it, the game be- 
came more exciting than usual, and the ball slipped 
through East’s fingers, and rolled slowly down the 
steps and out into the middle of the school, just as 
the masters turned their walk and faced round 
upon the desk. The young delinquents watched 
their master through the look-out holes march slowly 
down the school straight upon their retreat, while 
all the boys in the neighbourhood of course stopped 
their work to look on ; and not only were they igno- 
miniously drawn out, and caned over the hand then 
and there, but their characters for steadiness were 
gone from that time. However, as they only shared 
the fate of some three-fourths of the rest of the form, 
this (fid not weigh heavily upon them. 

In fact, the only occasions on which they cared 
about the matter, were the monthly examinations, 
when the Doctor came round to examine their form, 
for one long, awful hour, in the work which they 
had done in the preceding month. The second 
monthly examination came round soon after Tom’s 
fall, and it was with any thing but lively anticipa- 
tions that he and the other lower-fourth boys came 
into prayers on the morning of the examination- 
day. 


180 


MONTHLY EXAMINATIONS. 


Prayers and calling-over seemed twice as short as 
usual, and before they could get construes of a tithe 
of the hard passages marked in the margin of their 
books, they were all seated round, and the Doctor 
was standing in the middle, talking in whispers to 
the master. Tom couldn’t hear a word which pass- 
ed, and never lifted his eyes from his book ; but he 
knew by a sort of magnetic instinct, that the Doctor’s 
under lip was coming out, and his eye beginning 
to burn, and his gown getting gathered up more and 
more tightly in his left hand. The suspense was 
agonizing, and Tom knew that he was sure on such 
occasions to make an example of the school-house 
boys. “ If he would only begin,” thought Tom, “ I 
shouldn’t mind.” 

At last the whispering ceased, and the name which 
was called out was not Brown. He looked up for a 
moment, but the Doctor’s face was too awful ; Tom 
wouldn’t have met his eye for all he was worth, and 
buried himself in his book again. 

The boy who was called up first was a clever 
merry school-house boy, one of their set; he was 
some connection of the Doctor’s and a great favour- 
ite, and ran in and out of his house as he liked, 
and so was selected for the first victim. 

“ Triste lupus stabulis,” began the luckless young- 
ster, and stammered through some eight or ten 
lines. 

“ There, that will do,” said the Doctor, “ now 
construe.” 

On common occasions the boy could have con- 
strued the passage well enough probably, but now 
his head was gone. 


181 


“ TRISTE LUPUS.” 

“ Triste lupus, the sorrowful wolf,” he began. 

A shudder ran through the whole form, and the 
Doctor’s wrath fairly boiled over ; he made three 
steps up to the construer, and gave him a good box 
on the ear. The blow was not a hard one, but the 
boy was so taken by surprise that he started back ; 
the form caught the back of his knees, and over he 
went on to the floor behind. There was a dead 
silence over the whole school ; never before, and 
never again while Tom was at school, did the Doc- 
tor strike a boy in lesson. The provocation must 
have been great. However, the victim had saved 
his form for that occasion, for the Doctor turned 
to the top bench, and put on the best boys for the 
rest of the hour ; and though at the end of the 
lesson he gave them all such a rating as they did 
not forget, this terrible field-day passed over with- 
out any severe visitations in the shape of punish- 
ments or floggings. Forty young scapegraces ex- 
pressed their thanks to the “ sorrowful wolf ” in 
their different ways before second lesson. 

But a character for steadiness once gone, is not 
easily recovered, as Tom found, and for years after- 
wards he went up the school without it, and the 
masters’ hands were against him, and his against 
them. And he regarded them, as a matter of course, 
as his natural enemies. 

Matters were not so comfortable either in the 
house as they had been, for old Brooke left at 
Christmas, and one or two others of the sixth-form 
boys at the following Easter. Their rule had been 
rough, but strong and just in the main, and a 


182 


MISRULE AND ITS CAUSES. 


higher standard was beginning to be set up ; in 
fact there had been a short foretaste of the good 
time which followed some years later. Just now, 
however, all threatened to return into darkness and 
chaos again. For the new praepostors were either 
small young boys, whose cleverness had carried 
them up to the top of the school, while in strength 
of body and character, they were not yet fit for a 
share in the government; or else big fellows of the 
wrong sort, boys whose friendships and tastes had 
a downward tendency, who had not caught the 
meaning of their position and work, and felt none 
of its responsibilities. So under this no-govern- 
ment the school-house began to see bad times. 
The big fifth-form boys, who were a sporting and 
drinking set, soon began to usurp power, and to 
fag the little boys as if they were praepostors, and 
to bully and oppress any who showed signs of re- 
sistance. The bigger sort of sixth-form boys just 
described, soon made common cause with the fifth, 
while the smaller sort, hampered by their colleagues’ 
desertion to the enemy, could not make head against 
them. So the fags were without their lawful mas- 
ters and protectors, and ridden over rough-shod by 
a set of boys whom they were not bound to obey, 
and whose only right over them stood in their bod- 
ily powers; and, as old Brooke had prophesied, the 
house by degrees broke up into small sets and par- 
ties, and lost the strong feeling of fellowship which 
he set so much store by, and with it much of the 
prowess in games, and the lead in all school matters 
which he had done so much to keep up. 


THE OLD BOY MORALIZETH THEREON. 


183 


In no place in the world has individual character 
more weight than at a public school. Remember 
this, I beseech you, all you boys who are getting 
into the upper-forms. Now is the time in all your 
lives, probably, when you may have more wide 
influence for good or evil on the society you live 
in, than you ever can have again. Quit yourselves 
like men, then ; speak up, and strike out if neces- 
sary, for whatsoever is true, and manly, and lovely, 
and of good report ; never try to be popular, but 
only to do your duty and help others to do theirs, 
and you may leave the tone of feeling in the school 
higher than you found it, and so be doing good, 
which no living soul can measure, to generations 
of your countrymen yet unborn. For boys follow 
one another in herds like sheep, for good or evil ; 
they hate thinking, and have rarely any settled 
principles. Every school, indeed, has its own tra- 
ditionary standard of right and wrong, which can- 
not be transgressed with impunity, marking certain 
things as low and blackguard, and certain others as 
lawful and right. This standard is ever varying, 
though it changes only slowly, and little by little, 
and, subject only to such standard, it is the leading 
boys for the time being who give the tone to all the 
rest, and make the school either a noble institution 
for the training of Christian Englishmen, or a place 
where a young boy will get more evil than he would 
if he were turned out to make his way in London 
streets, or any thing between these two extremes. 

The change for the worse in the school-house, 
however, didn’t press very heavily on our youngsters 


184 


THE SHOE BEGINS TO PINCH. 


for some time ; they were in a good bedroom, where 
slept the only praepostor left who was able to keep 
thorough order, and their study was in his passage ; 
so, though they were fagged more or less, and occa- 
sionally kicked or cuffed by the bullies, they were 
on the whole well off ; and the fresh brave school- 
life, so full of games, adventures, and good fellow- 
ship, so ready at forgetting, so capacious at enjoying, 
so bright at forecasting, outweighed a thousandfold 
their troubles with the master of their form, and the 
occasional ill-usage of the big boys in the house. 
It wasn’t till some year or so after the events re- 
corded^hbove, that the praepostor of their room and 
passage left. iNlone of the other sixth-form boys 
would move into their passage, and, to the disgust 
and indignation of Tom and East, one morning 
after breaTtfast they were seized upon by Flash man, 
and made to carry down his books and furniture 
into the unoccupied study which he had taken. 
From this time they began to feel the weight of the 
tyranny of Flashman and his friends, and, now that 
trouble had come home to their own doors, began 

' o 

to look out for sympathizers and partners amongst 
the rest of the fags ; and meetings of the oppressed 
began to be held, and murmurs to arise, and plots to 
be laid, as to how they should free themselves and be 
avenged on their enemies. 

While matters were in this state, East and Tom 
were one evening sitting in their study. They had 
done their work for first lesson, and Tom was in a 
brown study, brooding like a young William Tell, 
upon the wrongs of fags in general, and his own in 
particular. 


BURSTING POINT. 


185 


“ I say, Scud,” said he at last, rousing himself to 
snuff the candle, “ what right have the fifth-form 
boys to fag us as they do ? ” 

“ No more right than you have to fag them,” an- 
swered East, without looking up from an early 
number of Pickwick, which was just coming out, 
and which he wa§ luxuriously devouring, stretched 
on his back on the sofa. 

Tom relapsed into his brown study, and East 
went on reading and chuckling. The contrast of 
the boys’ faces would have given infinite amuse- 
ment to a looker-on, the one so solemn and big with 
mighty purpose, the other radiant and bubbling over 
with fun. g 

“ Do you know, old fellow, I’ve been thinking it 
over a good deal,” began Tom again. 

“ Oh yes, I know, fagging you’re thinking of. 
Hang it all, but listen here, Tom — here’s fun. Mr. 
Winkle’s horse — ” 

“ And I’ve made up my mind,” broke in Tom, 
‘‘that I won’t fag except for the sixth.” 

“ Quite right, too, my boy,” cried East, putting 
his finger in the place and looking up ; “but a pretty 
peck of troubles you’ll get into, if you’re going to 
play that game. However, I’m all for a strike my- 
self, if we can get others to join — it’s getting too 
bad.” 

“ Can’t we get some sixth-form fellow to take it 
up ? ” asked Tom. 

“ Well, perhaps we might ; Morgan would inter- 
fere, I think. Only,” added East, after a moment’s 
pause, “ you see we should have to tell him about 
17 


186 


WHAT HELP r 


it, and that’s against school principles. Don’t you 
remember what old Brooke said about learning to 
take our own parts ? ” 

“ Ah, I wish old Brooke were back again — it was 
all right in his time.” 

“ Why yes, you see then the strongest and best 
fellows were in the sixth, and the fifth-form fellows 
were afraid of them, and they kept good order ; but 
now our sixth-form fellows are too small, and the 
fifth don’t care for them, and do what they like in 
the house.” ” 

“ And so we get a double set of masters,” cried 
Tom indignantly ; “ the lawful ones, who are respon- 
sible to the Doctor at any rate, and the unlawful — 
the tyrants, who are responsible to nobody.” 

“Down with the tyrants!” cried East; “I’m all 
for law and order, and hurra for a revolution.” 

“ I shouldn’t mind if it were only for young 
Brooke now,” said Tom, “ he’s such a good-hearted 
gentlemanly fellow, and ought to be in the sixth — 
I’d do any thing for him. But that blackguard 
FI ashman, who never speaks to one without a kick 
or an oath ” 

“ The cowardly brute,” broke in East, “ how I 
hate him. And he knows it too, he knows that you 
and I think him a coward. What a bore that he’s 
got a study in this passage ; don’t you hear them 
now at supper in his den ? Brandy punch going, 
I’ll bet. I wish the Doctor would come out and 
catch him. We must change our study as soon as 
we can.” 

“ Change or no change, I’ll never fag for him 
again,” said Tom, thumping the table. 


THE EXPLOSION. 


187 


“Fa-a-a-ag,” sounded along the passage from 
Flashman’s study. The two boys looked at one 
another in silence. It had struck nine, so the reg- 
ular night-fags had left duty, and they were the 
nearest to the supper-party. East sat up, and be- 
gan to look comical, as he always did under difficul- 
ties. 

“ Fa-a -a-ag,” again. No answer. 

Here, Brown ! East ! you cursed young skulks,” 
roared out Flashman, coming to his open door, “ I 
know you’re in — no shirking.” 

Tom stole to their door, and drew the bolts as 
noiselessly as he could; East blew out the candle. 
“ Barricade the first,” whispered he. “ Now, Tom, 
mind, no surrender.” 

“ Trust me for that,” said Tom between his 
teeth. 

In another minute they heard the supper-party 
turn out and come down the passage to their door. 
They held their breaths, and heard whispering, ot 
which they only made out Flashman’s words, “ I 
know the young brutes are in.” 

Then came summonses to open, which being un- 
answered, the assault commenced : luckily the door 
was a good strong oak one, and resisted the united 
weight of Flashman’s party. A pause followed, 
and they heard a besieger remark, u They’re in safe 
enough — don’t you see how the door holds at top 
and bottom? so the bolts must be drawn. We 
should have forced the lock long ago.” East gave 
Tom a nudge to call attention to this scientific re- 
mark. 


188 


THE SIEGE. 


/ 

Then came attacks on particular panels, one of 
which at last gave way to the repeated kicks, but it 
broke inwards, and the broken piece got jammed 
across, the door being lined with green baize, and 
couldn’t easily be removed from outside; and the 
besieged, scorning further concealment, strengthened 
their defences by pressing the end of their sofa 
against the door. So after one or two more ineffec- 
tual efforts, Flashman and Co. retired, vowing ven- 
geance in no mild terms. 

The first danger over, it only remained for the 
besieged to effect a safe retreat, as it was now near 
bed-time. They listened intently and heard the sup- 
per-party resettle themselves, and then gently drew 
back first one bolt and then the other. Presently 
the convivial noises began again steadily. “ Now 
then, stand by for a run,” said East, throwing the 
door wide open and rushing into the passage, closely 
followed by Tom. They were too quick to be 
caught, but Flashman was on the look-out, and 
sent an empty pickle-jar whizzing after them, which 
narrowly missed Tom’s head, and broke into twenty 
pieces at the end of the passage. “ He wouldn’t 
mind killing one if he wasn’t caught,” said East, as 
they turned the corner. 

There was no pursuit, so the two turned into the 
hall, where they found a knot of small boys round 
the fire. Their story was told — the war of indepen- 
dence had broken out — who would join the revolu- 
tionary forces ? Several others present bound them- 
selves not to fag for the fifth-form at once. One or 
two only edged off and left the rebels. What else 


CONSTITUTIONAL RESISTANCE. 


189 


could they do ? “ Ive a good mind to go to the Doc- 
tor straight,” said Tom. 

“ That ’ll never do — don’t you remember the levy 
of the school last half? ” put in another. 

In fact that solemn assembly, a levy of the school, 
had been held, at which the captain of the school 
had got up, and, after premising that several in- 
stances had occurred of matters having been reported 
to the masters, that this was against public morality 
and school, tradition, that a levy of the sixth had 
been held on the subject, and they had resolved 
that the practice must be stopped at once, had 
given out that any boy in whatever form who 
should thenceforth appeal to a master without hav- 
ing first gone to some praepostor and laid the case 
before him, should be thrashed publicly and sent to 
Coventry. 

“ Well, then, let’s try the sixth. Try Morgan,” 
suggested another. “ No use.” “ Blabbing won’t 
do,” was the general feeling. 

“ I’ll give you fellows a piece of advice,” said a 
voice from the end of the hall. They all turned 
round with a start, and the speaker got up from a 
bench on which he had been lying unobserved, and 
gave himself a shake ; he was a big loose-made 
fellow, with huge limbs which had grown too far 
through his jacket and trousers. “Don’t you go to 
anybody at all, you just stand out; say you won’t 
fag — they’ll soon get tired of licking you. I’ve tried 
it on years ago with their forerunners.” 

“ No ! did you ? tell us how it was,” cried a chorus 
of voices, as they clustered round him. 

17 * 


190 


A COUNSELLOR TO THE REBELS. 


“Well, just as it is with you. The fifth-form 
would fag us, and 1 and some more struck, and we 
beat ’em. The good fellows left off directly, and the 
bullies who kept on soon got afraid.” 

“ Was Flashman here then ? ” 

“ Yes ! and a dirty little snivelling sneaking fellow 
he was too. He never dared join us, and used to 
toady the bullies by offering to fag for them, and 
peaching against the rest of us.” 

“ Why wasn’t he cut, then ? ” said East. 

“ Oh, toadies never get cut, they’re too useful. 
Besides fie has no end of great hampers from home, 
with wine and game in them, so he toadied and fed 
himself into favour.” 

The cpiarter-to-ten bell now rang, and the small 
boys went off up stairs, still consulting together, 
and praising their new counsellor, who stretched 
himself out on the bench before the hall fire again. 
There he lay, a very queer specimen of boyhood, by 
name Digg^f and familiarly called “ the Mucker.” 
He was young for his size, and a very clever fellow, 
nearly at the top of the fifth. His friends at home, 
having regard I suppose to his age, and not to his 
size and place in the school, hadn’t put him into 
tails ; and even his jackets were always too small, 
and'he had a talent for destroying clothes, and mak- 
ing himself look shabby. He wasn’t on terms^with 
Flashman’s set, who sneered at his dress and ways 
behind his back, which he knew, and revenged 
himself by asking Flashman the most disagreeable 
questions, and treating him familiarly whenever a 
crowd of boys were round them. Neither was he 


“THE MUCKEE HIS WAY OF LIFE. 


191 


intimate with any of the other bigger boys, who 
were warned off by his oddnesses, for he was a very 
queer fellow ; besides, amongst other failings, he had 
that of impecuniosity in a remarkable degree. He 
brought as much money as other boys to school, but 
got rid of it in no time, no one knew how. And 
Ihen, being also reckless, borrowed from any one, and 
when his debts accumulated and creditors pressed, 
would have an auction in the hall of every thing he 
possessed in the world, selling even his school-books, 
candlestick, and study table. For weeks after one 
of these auctions, having rendered his study unin- 
habitable, he would live about in the fifth-form room 
and hall, doing his verses on old letter-backs and 
odd scraps of paper,. and learning his lessons no one 
knew how. He never meddled with any little boy, 
and was popular with them, though they all looked 
on him with a sort of compassion, and called him 
“ poor Diggs,” not being able to resist appearances, or 
to disregard wholly even the sneers of their enemy 
Flashman. However, he seemed equally indifferent 
to the sneers of big boys and the pity of small ones, 
and lived his own queer life with much apparent 
enjoyment to himself. It is necessary to introduce 
Diggs thus particularly, as he not only did Tom 
and East good service in their present warfare, as is 
about to be told, but soon afterwards, when he got 
into the sixth, chose them for his fags, and excused 
them from study-fagging, thereby earning unto him- 
self eternal gratitude from them, and all who are 
interested in their history. 

And seldom had small boys more need of a 


192 


THE WAR EAGES. 


friend, for the morning after the siege, the storm 
burst upon the rebels in all its violence. Flashrnan 
laid wait, and caught Tom before second lesson, 
and receiving a point blank “ No,” when told to 
fetch his hat, seized him and twisted his arm, and 
went through the other methods of torture in use, 
u He couldn’t make me cry though,” as Tom said tri- 
umphantly to the rest of the rebels, “ and I kicked 
his shins well I know.” And soon it crept out that 
a lot of the fags- were in league, and . Flashrnan 
excited his associates to join him in bringing the 
young vagabonds to their senses ; and the house 
was filled with constant chasings, and sieges, and 
lickings of all sorts ; and in return, the bullies’ beds 
were pulled to pieces and drenched with water, and 
their names written up on the^walls with every in- 
sulting epithet which the fag invention could furnish. 
The war in short raged fiercely ; but soon, as Higgs 
had told them, all the better fellows in the fifth gave 
up trying to fag them, and public feeling began to 
set against Flashrnan and his two or three intimates, 
and they were obliged to keep their doings more 
secret, but being thorough bad fellows, missed no 
opportunity of torturing in private. Flashrnan was 
an adept in, all ways, but above all in the power of 
saying cutting and cruel things, and could often 
bring tears td the ‘eyes of boys in this way, which 
all the thrashings in the world wouldn’t have wrung 
from them. 

And as his operations were being cut short in 
other directions,' he now devoted himself chiefly to 
Tom and East, who lived at his own door, and would 


THE LAST COMBATANTS. 


193 


force himself into their study whenever he found a 
chance, and sit there, sometimes alone, sometimes 
with a companion, interrupting all their wOr£, and 
exulting in the evident pain which every now and 
then he could see he was inflicting on one or the 
other. 

The storm had cleared the air for the rest of the 
house, and a better state of things now began than 
there had been since old Brooke had left : but an 
angry dark spot of thunder-cloud still hung over the 
end of the passage, where Flashman’s study and 
that of East and Tom lay. 

He felt that they had been the first rebels, 
and that the rebellion had been to a great ex- 
tent successful ; but what above all stirred the 
hatred and bitterness of his heart against them, was 
that in the frequent collisions which there had been 
of late, they had openly called him coward and 
sneak, — the taunts were too true to be forgiven. 
While he was in the act of thrashing them they 
would roar out instances of his funking at football, 
or shirking some encounter with a lout half his 
own size. These things were all well enough 
known in the house, but to have his disgrace 
shouted out by small boys, to feel that they de- 
spised him, to be unable to silence them by any 
amount of torture, and to see the open laugh and 
sneer of his own associates, (who were looking on, 
and took no trouble to hide their scorn from him, 
though they neither interfered with his bullying 
or lived a bit the less intimately with him,) made 
him beside himself. Come what might, he wouF 


194 


THE WEAK TO THE WALL. 


make those boys’ lives miserable. So the strife 
settled down into a personal affair between Flash- 
man and our youngsters ; a war to the knife, to 
be fought in the little cockpit at the end of the 
bottom passage. 

Flashman, be it said, was about seventeen years 
old, and big and strong of his age. He played 
well at all games where pluck wasn’t much 
wanted, and managed generally to keep up ap- 
pearances where it was ; and having a bluff off- 
hand manner, which passed for heartiness, and 
considerable powers of being pleasant when he 
liked, went down with the school in general for 
a good fellow enough. Even in the school-house, 
by dint of his command of money, the constant 
supply of good things which he kept up, and his 
adroit toadyism, he managed to make him- 
self not only tolerated, but rather popular amongst 
his own cotemporaries ; although young Brooke 
scarcely spoke to him, and one or two others of 
the right sort showed their opinions of him when- 
ever a chance offered. But the wrong sort hap- 
pened to be in the ascendant just now, and so 
Flashman was a formidable enemy for small boys. 
This soon became plain enough. Flashman left 
no slander unspoken, and no deed undone, which 
could in any way hurt his victims, or isolate them 
from the rest of the house. One by one most of 
the other rebels fell away from them, while Flash- 
man’s cause prospered, and several other fifth- 
form boys began to look black at them, and ilf- 
treat them as they passed about the house. By 


DIGGS’ BANKRUPTCY. 


195 


keeping oat of bounds, or at all events out of 
the house and quadrangle, all day, and carefully 
barring themselves in at night, East and Tom 
managed to hold on without feeling very misera- 
ble; but it was as much as they could do. Greatly 
were they drawn then towards gld Diggs, who, in 
an uncouth way, began to take a good deal of 
notice of them, and once or twice came to their 
study when Flash man was there, who immediately 
decamped in consequence. The boys thought that 
Diggs must have been watching. 

When therefore, about »this time, an auction was 
one night announced to take place in the hall, at 
which, amongst the superfluities of other boys, all 
Diggs’ penates for the time being were going to 
the hammer, East and Tom laid their heads to- 
gether, and resolved to devote their ready cash 
(some four shillings sterling) to redeem such articles 
as that sum would cover. Accordingly, they duly 
attended to bid, and Tom became the owner of 
two lots of Diggs’ things — lot JL, price one-and- 
threepence, consisting (as the auctioneer remarked) 
of a “ valuable assortment of old metals,” in the 
shape of a mouse-trap, a cheese-toaster without a 
handle, and a saucepan : lot 2, of a villainous dirty 
tablecloth and green baize curtain ; while East, for 
one-and-sixpence, purchased a leather paper-case, 
with a lock but no key, once handsome, but now 
much the worse for wear. But they had still the 
point to settle, of how to get Diggs to take the 
things without hurting his feelings. This they 
solved by leaving them in his study, which was 


I 


196 


THE DERBY LOTTERY. 


never locked, when he was out. Diggs, who haa 
attended the auction, remembered who had bought 
the lots, and came to their study soon after, and 
sat silent for some time, cracking his great red 
finger -joints. Then he laid hold of their verses, 
and began looking over and altering them, and at 
last got up, and turning his back to them, said, 
“ You’re uncommon good-hearted little beggars, you 
two — I value that paper-case, my sister gave it me 
last holidays — I won’t forget;” and so tumbled 
out into the passage, leaving them somewhat em- 
barrassed, but not sorry that he knew what they had 
done. 

The next morning was Saturday, the day on 
which the allowances of one shilling a-week were 
paid, an important event to spendthrift young- 
sters ; and great was the disgust amongst the 
small fry, to hear that all the allowances had 
been impounded for the Derby lottery. That great 
event in the English year, the Derby, was cele- 
brated at Rugby in those days by many lotteries. 
It was not an improving custom, I own, gentle 
reader, and led to making books, and betting, 
and other objectionable results ; but when our 
great Houses of Palaver think it right to stop 
the nation’s business on that day, and many of 
them bet heavily themselves, can you blame us 
boys for following the example of our betters ? — 
at any rate we did follow it. First, there was 
the great school lottery, where the first prize was 
six or seven pounds ; then each house had one 
or more separate 'otteries. These were all nomi- 


GENTLEMEN SPORTSMEN. 


197 


nally voluntary, no boy being compelled to put in 
his shilling who didn’t choose to do so : but besides 
Flashman, there were three or four other fast sport- 
ing young gentlemen in the school-house, who 
considered subscription a matter of duty and ne- 
cessity, and so, to make their duty come easy to 
small boys, quietly secured the allowances in a 
lump when given out for distribution, and kept 
them. It was no use grumbling, — so many fewer 
tartlets and apples were eaten, and fives’- balls 
bought on that Saturday ; and after locking-up, 
when the money would otherwise have been spent, 
consolation was carried to many a small boy, by 
the sound of the night fags shouting along the 
passages, “ Gentlemen sportsmen of the school- 
house, the lottery’s going to be drawn in the hall.” 
It was pleasant to be called a gentleman sports- 
man — also to have a chance of drawing a favourite 
horse. 

The hall was full of boys, and at the head of one 
of the long tables stood the sporting interest, with a 
hat before them, in which were the tickets folded 
up. One of them then began calling out the list of 
the house ; each boy, as his name was called, drew a 
ticket from the hat and opened it ; and most of the 
bigger boys, after drawing, left the hall directly to 
go back to their studies or the 1 fifth-form room. The 
sporting interest had all drawn blanks, and they 
were sulky accordingly ; neither of the favourites 
had yet been drawn, and it had come down to the 
upper-fourth. So now, as each small boy came up 
and drew his ticket, it was seized and opened by 
18 


198 


TOM DRAWS THE FAVOURITE. 


Flashman, or some other of the standers-by. But 
no great favourite is drawn until it comes to the 
Tadpole’s turn, and he shuffles up and draws, and 
tries to make off, but is caught, and his ticket is 
opened like the rest. 

“Here you are! Wanderer! the third favourite,” 
shouts the opener. 

“ I say, just give me my ticket, please,” remon- 
strates Tadpole. 

“ Hullo, don’t be in a hurry,” breaks in Flashman, 
“ what’ll you sell Wanderer for now ? ” 

“ I don’t want to sell,” rejoins Tadpole. 

“ Oh, don’t you ! Now listen, you young fool — 
you don’t know anything about it; the horse is no 
use to you. He won’t win, but I want him as a 
hedge. Now I’ll give you half-a-crown for him.” 
Tadpole holds out, but between threats and cajoler- 
ies, at length sells half for one-shilling-and-six pence, 
about a fifth of its fair market value ; however, he 
is glad to realize anything, and as he wisely remarks, 
“ Wanderer mayn’t win,” and the tizzy is safe any 
how. 

East presently comes up and draws a blank. 
Soon after comes Tom’s turn ; his ticket, like the 
others, is seized and opened. “ Here you are then,” 
shouts the opener, holding it up, “ Harkaw r ay ! By 
Jove, Flashey, your young friend’s in luck.” 

“ Give me the ticket,” says Flashman with an 
oath, leaning across the table with open hand, and 
his face black with rage. 

“ Wouldn’t you like it?” replies the opener, not 
a bad fellow at the bottom, and no admirer of 


CONSEQUENCES. 


199 


Flashman’s. “ Here Brown, catch hold,’ 7 and he 
hands the ticket to Tom, who pockets it; where- 
upon Flashman makes for the door at once, that 
Tom and the ticket may not escape, and there keeps 
watch until the drawing is over, and all the boys are 
gone, except the sporting set of five or six, who stay 
to compare books, make bets, and so on ; Tom, who 
doesn’t choose to move while Flashman is at the 
door, and East, who stays by his friend, anticipating 
trouble. 

The sporting set now gathered round Tom. Pub- 
lic opinion wouldn’t allow them actually to rob him 
of his ticket, but any humbug or intimidation by 
which he could be driven to sell the whole or part at 
an undervalue was lawful. 

“ Now, young Brown, come, what’ll you sell me 
Harkaway for ? I hear he isn’t going to start. I’ll 
give you five shillings for him,” begins the boy who 
had opened the ticket. Tom, remembering his good 
deed, and moreover in his forlorn state wishing to 
make a friend, is about to accept the offer, when 
another cries out, “ I’ll give you seven shillings.” 
Tom hesitated and looked from one to the other. 

“ No, no ! ” said Flashman, pushing in, “ leave me 
to deal with him ; we’ll draw lots for it afterwards. 
Now, sir, you know me — you’ll sell Harkaway to us 
for five shillings, or you’ll repent it.” 

“ I won’t sell a bit of him,” answered Tom 
shortly. 

“ You hear that now! ” said Flashman, turning to 
the others. u He’s the coxiest young blackguard in 
the house — I always told you so. We’re to have 


200 


ROASTING A FAG. 


all tile trouble and risk of getting up the lotteries 
for the benefit of such fellows as he.” 

Flash man forgets to explain what risk they ran, 
but he speaks to willing ears. Gambling makes 
boys selfish and cruel as well as men. 

“ That’s true, — we always draw blanks,” cries 
one. “ Now, sir, you shall sell half at any rate.” 

“ I won’t,” said Tom, flushing up to his hair, and 
lumping them all in his mind with his sworn enemy. 

“ Very well then, let’s roast him,” cried Flashman, 
and catches hold of Tom by the collar : one or two 
boys hesitate, but the rest’join in. East seizes Tom’s 
arm and tries to pull him away, but is knocked 
back by one of the boys, and Tom is dragged along 
struggling. His shoulders are pushed against the 
mantel-piece, and he is held by main force before 
the fire, Flashman drawing his trousers tight by way 
of extra torture. Poor East, in more pain even than 
Tom, suddenly thinks of Diggs, and darts off to find 
him. “ Will you sell now for ten shillings ? ” says 
one boy who is relenting. 

Tom only answers by groans and struggles. 

“ I say, Flashey, he has had enough,” says the 
same boy, dropping the arm he holds. 

“ No, no, another turn’ll do it,” answers Flash- 
man. But poor Tom is done already, turns deadly 
pale, and his head falls forward on his breast, just as 
Diggs in frantic excitement rushes into the hall with 
East at his heels. 

“ You cowardly brutes ! ” is all he can say, as he 
catches Tom from them and supports him to the hall 
table. “ Good God ! he’s dying. Here, get some 
cold water — run for the housekeeper.” 


OYER DONE. 


201 


Flash man and one or two others slink away ; the 
rest ashamed and sorry bend over Tom or run for 
water, while East darts off for the housekeeper. 
Water comes, and they throw it on his hands and 
face, and he begins to come to. “ Mother ! ” - — the 
words came feebly and slowly — “ it’s very cold to- 
night.” Poor old Diggs is blubbering like a child. 
“ Where am I ? ” goes on Tom, opening his eyes. 
“Ah! 1 remember now,” and he shut his eyes again 
and groaned. 

“ I say,” is whispered, “ we can’t do any good, and 
the housekeeper will be here in a minute,” and all 
but one steal away ; he stays with Diggs, silent and 
sorrowful, and fans Tom’s face. 

The housekeeper comes in with strong salts, and 
Tom soon recovers enough to sit up. There is a 
smell of burning ; she examines his clothes, and looks 
up inquiringly. The boys are all silent. 

“ How did he come so ? ” No answer. 

“ There’s been some bad work here,” she adds, 
looking very serious, “ and I shall speak to the Doc- 
tor about it.” Still no answer. 

“ Hadn’t we better carry him to the sick-room?” 
suggests Diggs. 

“ Oh, I can walk now,” says Tom, and supported 
by East and the housekeeper, goes to the sick-room. 
The boy who held his ground is soon amongst the 
rest, who are all in fear of their lives. “ Did he 
peach ? ” “ Does she know about it ? ” 

“ Not a word, — he’s a stanch little fellow.’ 
And pausing a moment he adds, “ I’m sick of this 
work : what brutes we’ve been.” 

18 * 


202 


LAST DAYS OF THE WAR. 


Meantime Tom is stretched on the sofa in the 
housekeeper’s room, with East by his side, while she 
gets wine-and- water and other restoratives, 

“ Are you much hurt, dear old boy ? ” whispers 
East. 

“ Only the back of my legs,” answers Tom. 
They are indeed badly scorched, and part of his 
trousers burnt through. But soon he is in bed with 
cold bandages. At first he feels broken, and thinks 
of writing home and getting taken away ; and the 
verse of a hymn he had learned years ago sings 
through his head, and he goes to sleep, murmur- 
ing — 

“ Where the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest.” 

But after a sound night’s rest, the old boy-spirit 
comes back again. East comes in reporting that 
the whole house is with him, and he forgets every 
thing except their old resolve, never to be beaten by 
that bully Flashman. 

Not a word could the housekeeper extract from 
either of them ; and though the Doctor knew all 
that she knew that morning, he never knew any 
more. 

I trust and believe that such scenes are not pos- 
sible now at school, and that lotteries and betting- 
books have gone out; but I am writing of schools 
as they were in our time, and must give the evil 
with the good. 


CHAPTER IX. 


A CHAPTER OF ACCIDENTS. 

“ Wherein I [speak] of most disastrous chances. 

Of moving accidents by flood and field, 

Of hair-breadth ’scapes.” — Shakspeare. 

When Tom came back into school after a couple 
of days in the sick-room, he found matters much 
changed for the better, as East had led him to ex- 
pect. Flashman’s brutality had disgusted most 
even of his intimate friends, and his cowardice 
had been once more made plain to the house ; for 
Diggs had encountered him on the morning after 
the lottery, and after high words on both sides had 
struck him, and the blow was not returned. How- 
ever, Flashey was not unused to this sort of thing, 
and had lived through as awkward affairs before, 
and, as Diggs had said, fed and toadied himself 
back into favour again. Two of three of the boys 
who had helped to roast Tom came up and begged 
his pardon, and thanked him for not telling any 
thing. Morgan sent for him, and was inclined to 
take the matter up warmly, but Tom begged him 
not to do it ; to which he agreed, on Tom’s promis- 
ing to come to him at once in future — a promise 
which I regret to say he didn’t keep. Tom keps 
Harkaway all to himself, and won the second prize in 


204 


RULE BREAKING. 


the lottery, some thirty shillings, which he and East 
contrived to spend in about three days, in the pur- 
chase of pictures for their study, two new bats and 
a cricket-ball, all of the best that could be got, and a 
supper of sausages, kidneys, and beef-steak pies to 
all the rebels. Light come, light go ; they wouldn’t 
have been comfortable with money in their pockets 
in the middle of the half. 

The embers of Flashman’s wrath, however, were 
still smouldering, and burst out every now and then 
in sly blows and taunts, and they both felt that they 
hadn’t quite done with him yet. It wasn’t long, 
however, before the last act of that drama came, 
and with it, the end of bullying for Tom and East 
at Rugby. They now often stole out into the hall 
at nights, incited thereto, partly by the hope of find- 
ing Diggs there and having a talk with him, partly 
by the excitement of doing something which was 
against rules ; for, sad to say, both of our young- 
sters, since their loss of character for steadiness in 
their form, had got into the habit of doing things 
which were forbidden, as a matter of adventure ; 
just in the same way, I should fancy, as men fall 
into smuggling, and for the same sort of reasons. 
Thoughtlessness in the first place. It never occurred 
to them to consider why such and such rules were 
laid down, the reason was nothing to them, and 
they only looked upon rules as a sort of challenge 
from the rule-makers, which it would be rather bad 
pluck in them not to accept ; and then again, in the 
lower parts of the school they hadn’t enough to do. 
The work of the form they could manage to get 


RULE BREAKING. 


205 


through pretty easily, keeping a good enough place 
to get their regular yearly remove ; and not having 
much ambition beyond this, their whole superfluous 
steam was available for games and scrapes. Now 
one rule of the house which it was a daily pleasure 
of all such boys to break, was that after supper all 
fags, except the three on duty in the passages, 
should remain in their own studies until nine 
o’clock ; and if caught about the passages or hall, 
or in one another’s studies, they were liable to pun- 
ishments or caning. The rule was stricter than its 
observance, for most of the sixth spent their evenings 
in the fifth-form room, where the library was, and 
the lessons were learnt in common. Every now and 
then, however, a praepostor would be seized with a 
fit of district-visiting, and would make a tour of 
the passages and hall and the fags’ studies. Then, 
if the owner were entertaining a friend or two, the 
first kick at the door and ominous “ open here,’’ had 
the effect of the shadow of a hawk over a chicken- 
yard ; every one cut to cover — one small boy diving 
under the sofa, another under the table, while, the 
owner would hastily pull down a book or two and 
open them, and cry out in a meek voice, “ Hullo, 
who’s there ? ” casting an anxious eye round, to see 
that no protruding leg or elbow could betray the 
hidden boys. “ Open, sir, directly, it’s Snooks.” 
“ Oh, I’m very sorry, I didn’t know it was you, 
Snooks ; ” and then, with well-feigned zeal, the door 
would be opened, young hopeful praying that that 
beast Snooks mightn’t have heard the scuffle caused 
by his coming. If a study was empty, Snooks 


206 


THE BRUISED WORM WILL TURN. 


proceeded to draw the passages and hall to find the 
truants. 

Well, one evening, in forbidden hours, Tom and 
East were in the hall. They occupied the seats 
before the fire nearest the door, while Diggs sprawled 
as usual before the further fire. He was busy with 
a copy of verses, and East and Tom were chatting 
together in whispers by the light of the fire, and 
splicing a favourite old fives’ bat which had sprung. 
Presently a step came down the bottom passage; 
they listened a moment, assured themselves that it 
wasn’t a praepostor, and then went on with their 
work, and the door swung open, and in walked 
Flashman. He didn’t see Diggs, and thought it a 
good chance to keep his hand in ; and as the boys 
didn’t move for him, struck one of them, to make 
them get out of his way. 

“ What’s that for ? ” growled the assaulted one. 

“ Because I choose. You’ve no business here — 
go to your study.” 

“ You can’t send us.” 

“ Can’t I ? Then I’ll thrash you if you stay,” said 
Flashman, savagely. 

“ I say, you two,” said Diggs from the end of the 
hall, rousing up and resting himself on his elbow, 
“ you’ll never get rid of that fellow till you lick him. 
Go in at him, both of you — I’ll see fair play.” 

Flashman was taken aback, and retreated two 
steps. East looked at Tom. “ Shall we try ? ” said 
he. “ Yes,” said Tom, desperately. So the two 
advanced on Flashman with clenched fists and 
beating hearts. They were about up to his shoulder, 


ACCOUNTS SQUARED WITH FLASHMAN. 


207 


but tough boys of their age and in perfect training, 
while he, though strong and big, was in poor con- 
dition from his monstrous habits of stuffing, and 
want of exercise. Coward as he was, however, 
Flashman couldn’t swallow such an insult as this ; 
besides, he was confident of having easy work, and 
so faced the boys, saying, “ You impudent young 
blackguards ! ” — Before he could finish his abuse 
they rushed in on him, and began pummelling at 
all of him which they could reach. He hit out 
wildly and savagely, but the full force of his blows 
didn’t tell, they were too near him. It was long 
odds tho’ in point of strength, and in another minute 
Tom went spinning backwards over a form, and 
Flashman turned to demolish East with a savage 
grin. But now Diggs jumped down from the table 
on which he had seated himself. “ Stop there,” 
shouted he, “the round’s over — half-minute time 
allowed.” 

“ What the is it to you ? ” faltered Flash- 

man, who began to lose heart. 

“ I’m going to see fair, I tell you ? ” said Diggs 
with a grin, and snapping his great red fingers ; 
“ ’taint fair for you to be fighting one of them at a 
time. Are you ready, Brown ? • Time’s up.” 

The small boys rushed in again. Closing they 
saw was their best chance, and Flashman was wilder 
and more flurried than ever; he caught East by the 
throat and tried to force him back on the iron-bound 
table ; Tom grasped his waist, and remembering the 
old throw he had learned in the Vale from Harry 
Winburn, crooked his leg inside Flashman’s, and 


208 


ACCOUNTS SQUARED WITH FLASHMAN. 


threw his whole weight forward. The three tottered 
for a moment, and then over they went on to the 
floor, Flashman striking his head against a form in 
the fall. 

The two youngsters sprang to their legs, but he 
lay there still. They began to be frightened. Tom 
stooped down, and then cried out, scared out of his 
wits, “ He’s bleeding awfully ; come here, East, 
Diggs — he’s dying ! ” 

“ Not he,” said Diggs, getting leisurely off the 
table; “it’s all sham, he’s only afraid to fight it 
out.” 

East was as frightened as Tom. Diggs lifted 
Flashman’s head and he groaned. 

44 What’s the matter? ” shouted Diggs. 

44 My skull’s fractured,” sobbed Flashman. 

44 Oh, let me run for the housekeeper,” cried Tom. 
44 What shall we do ? ” 

44 Fiddlesticks ! it’s nothing but the skin broken,” 
said the relentless Diggs, feeling his head. 44 Cold 
water and a bit of rag’s all he’ll want.” 

44 Let me go,” said Flashman, surlily, sitting up ; 
44 I don’t want your help.” 

44 We’re really very sorry,” began East. 

44 Hang your sorrow,” answered Flashman, hold- 
ing his handkerchief to the place ; 44 you shall pay 
for this, I can tell you, both of you.” And he 
walked out of the hall. 

44 He can’t be very bad,” said Tom, with a deep 
sigh, much relieved to see his enemy march so well. 

44 Not he,” said Diggs, 44 and you’ll see you won’t 
be troubled with him any more. But, I say, your 


ACCOUNTS SQUARED WITT" FLASHMAN. 


209 


head’s broken too — your collar is covered with 
blood.” 

“ Is it though ? ” said Torn, putting up his hand; 
u I didn’t know it.” 

“ Weil, mop it up, or you’ll have your jacket spoilt. 
And you have got a nasty eye, Scud ; you’d better 
go and bathe it well in cold water.” 

u Cheap enough too, if we’ve done with our old 
friend Flashy,” said East, as they made off up stairs 
to bathe their wounds. 

They had done with Flashman in one sense, for 
he never laid finger on either of them again ; but 
whatever harm a spiteful heart and venomous tongue 
could do them, he took care should be done. Only 
throw dirt enough, and some of it is sure to stick ; 
and so it was with the fifth-form and the bigger 
boys in general, with whom he associated more or 
less, and they not at all, Flashman managed to get 
Tom and East into disfavour, which did not wear 
off for some time after the author of it had disap- 
peared from the school world. This event, much 
prayed for by the small fry in general, took place a 
few months after the above encounter. One fine 
summer evening, Flashman had been regaling him- 
self on gin-punch, at Brownsover ; and having ex- 
ceeded his usual limits, started home uproarious. 
He fell in with a friend or two coming back from 
bathing, proposed a glass of beer, to which they 
assented, the weather being hot, and they thirsty 
souls, and unaware of the quantity of drink which 
Flashman had already on board. The short result 
was, that Flashy became inhumanly drunk ; they 
19 


210 


PENALTIES OF THE WAR. 


tried to get him along, but couldn’t, so they char 
tered a hurdle and two men to carry him. One of 
the masters came upon them, and they naturally 
enough fled. The flight of the rest raised the mas- 
ter’s suspicions, and the good angel of the fags 
incited him to examine the freight, and after exam- 
ination, to convoy the hurdle himself up to the 
school-house ; and the Doctor, who had long had 
his eye on Flashman, arranged for his withdrawal 
next morning. 

t The evil that men, and boys too, do, lives after 
them : Flashman was gone, but our boys, as hinted 
above, still felt the effects of his hate. Besides, they 
had been the movers of the strike against unlawful 
fagging. The cause was righteous, the result had 
been triumphant to a great extent ; but the best of 
the fifth, even those who had never fagged the small 
boys, or had given up the practice cheerfully, 
couldn’t help feeling a small grudge against the first 
rebels. After all, their form had been defied ; on just 
grounds, no doubt, so just indeed, that they had at 
once acknowledged the wrong and remained passive 
in the strife : had they sided with Flashman and his 
set, the rebels must have given way at once. They 
couldn’t help, on the whole, being glad that they had 
so acted, and that the resistance had been successful 
against such of their own form as had shown fight , 
they felt that law and order had gained thereby, but 
the ringleaders they couldn’t quite pardon at once. 
“ Confoundedly coxy those young rascals will get if 
we don’t mind,” was the general feeling. 

So it is, and must be always, my dear boys. Ii 


FATE OF LIBERATORS. 


211 


the Angel Gabriel were to come down from Heaven, 
and head a successful rise against the most abomin- 
able and unrighteous vested interest which this poor 
old world groans under, he would most certainly lose 
his character for many years, probably for centuries, 
not only with upholders of said vested interest, but 
with the respectable mass of the people whom he 
had delivered. They wouldn’t ask him to dinner, 
or let their names appear with his in the papers ; 
they would be very careful how they spoke of him 
in the Palaver or at their clubs. What can we ex- 
pect then, when we have only poor gallant blun- 
dering men like Kossuth, Garibaldi, Mazzini, and 
righteous causes which do not triumph in their 
hands ; men who have holes enough in their ar- 
mour, God knows, easy to be hit by respectabilities 
sitting in their lounging chairs, and having large 
balances at their bankers ? But you are brave 
gallant boys, who hate easy-chairs, and have no 
balances or bankers. You only want to have your 
heads set straight to take the right side : so bear in 
mind that majorities, especially respectable ones, are 
nine times out of ten in the wrong ; and that if you 
see man or boy striving earnestly on the weak side, 
however wrong-headed or blundering he may be, 
you are not to go and join the cry against him. If 
you can’t join him, and help him, and make him 
wiser, at any rate remember that he has found 
something in the world which he will fight and 
suffer for, which is just what you have got to do 
for yourselves, and so think and speak of him 
tenderly. 


212 


THE ISHMAELITES. 


So East and Tom, the Tadpole, and one or two 
more, became a sort of young Ishmaelites, their 
hands against every one, and every one’s hand 
against them. It has been already told how they 
got to war with the masters and the fifth-form, and 
with the sixth it was much the same. They 
saw the praepostors cowed by or joining with the 
fifth, and shirking their own duties, so they didn’t 
respect them, and rendered no willing obedience. 
It, had been one thing to clean out studies for sons 
of heroes like old Brooke, but was quite another 
to do the like for Snooks and Green, who had never 
faced a good scrummage at football, and couldn’t 
keep the passages in order at night. So they only 
slurred through their fagging just well enough to 
escape a licking, and not always that, and got the 
character of sulky, unwilling fags. In the fifth-form 
room, after supper, when such matters were often 
discussed and arranged, their names were for ever 
coming up. 

“ I say, Green,” Snooks began one night, u isn’t 
that new boy, Harrison, your fag?” 

u Yes, why ? ” 

“ Oh, I know something of him at home, and 
should like to excuse him — will you swop ? ” 

“ Who will you give me ? ” 

“ Well, let’s see, there’s Willis, Johnson — No, that 
won’t do. Yes, I have it — there’s young East, I’ll 
give you him.” 

“ Don’t you wish you may get it ? ” replied Green. 
u I’ll tell you what I’ll do — I’ll give you two foi 
Willis, if you like.” 


THE ISHMAELITES. 


213 


“ Who, then ? ” asks Snooks. 

“ Hall and Brown.” 

“ Wouldn’t have ’em at a gift.” 

“ Better than East though, for they ain’t quite so 
sharp,” said Green, getting up and leaning his back 
against the' mantel-piece — he wasn’t a bad fellow, 
and couldn’t help not being able to put down the 
unruly fifth-form. His eye twinkled as he went on, 
“ Did I ever tell you how the young vagabond sold 
me last half?” 

“ No — how? ” 

“ Well, he never half cleaned my study out, only 
just stuck the candlesticks in the cupboard, and 
swept the crumbs on to the floor. So at last I was 
mortal angry and had him up, made him go 
through the whole performance under my eyes : the 
dust the young scamp made nearly choked me, and 
showed that he hadn’t swept the carpet before. 
Well, when it was all finished, ‘ Now, young gen- 
tleman,’ says I, 4 mind, I expect this to be done 
every morning, floor swept, tablecloth taken off and 
shaken, and every thing dusted.’ 4 Very well,’ grunts 
he. Not a bit of it though — I was quite sure in a 
day or two that he never took the tablecloth off 
even. So I laid a trap for him : I tore up some 
paper and put half-a-dozen bits on my table one 
night, and the cloth over them as usual. Next 
morning, after breakfast, up I came, pulled off the 
cloth, and sure enough there was the paper, which 
fluttered down on to the floor. I was in a towering 
rage. 4 I’ve got you now,’ thought I, and sent for 
him, while I got out my cane. Up he came as cool 

19 * 


214 


THE ISHMAELITES. 


as you please, with his hands in his pockets. 

Didn’t I tell you to shake my tablecloth every 
morning ? ’ roared I. 4 Yes,’ says he. 4 Did you do 
it this morning?’ 4 Yes.’ 4 You young liar! I put 
those pieces of paper on the table last night, and if 
you’d taken the tablecloth off you’d have seen them, 
so I’m going to give you a good licking.’ Then my 
youngster takes one hand out of his pocket, and 
just stoops down and picks up two of the bits of 
paper, and holds them out to me. There was 
written on each in great round text, 4 Harry East, his 
mark.’ The young rogue had found my trap out, 
taken away my paper and put some of his there, every 
bit ear-marked. I’d a great mind to lick him for his 
impudence, but after all one has no right to be laying 
traps, so I didn’t. Of course I was at his mercy till 
the end of the half, and in his weeks my study was 
so frowsy I couldn’t sit in it.” 

44 They spoil one’s things so too,” chimed in a 
third boy. 44 Hall and Brown were night fags last 
week ; I called fag, and gave them my candlesticks 
to clean ; away they went, and didn’t appear again. 
When they’d had time enough to clean them three 
times over, I went out to look after them. They 
weren’t in the passages, so down I went into the 
hall, where I heard music, and there I found them 
sitting on the table listening to Johnson, who was 
playing the flute, and my candlesticks stuck between 
the bars well into the fire, red-hot, clean spoiled ; 
they’ve never stood straight since, and I must get 
some more. However, I gave them both a good 
licking, that’s one comfort.” 


THE ISHMAELITES. 


215 


Such were the sort of scrapes they were always 
getting into; and so, partly by their own faults, 
partly from circumstances, partly from the faults of 
others, they found themselves outlaws, ticket-of-leave 
men, or what you will in that line; in short, dan- 
gerous parties, and lived the sort of hand-to-mouth, 
wild, reckless life which such parties generally have 
to put up with. Nevertheless, they never quite lost 
favour with young Brooke, who was now the cock of 
the house, and just getting into the sixth, and Diggs 
stuck to them like a man, and gave them store 
of good advice, by which they never in the least 
profited. 

And even after the house mended, and law and 
order had been restored, which soon happened after 
young Brooke and Diggs got into the sixth, they 
couldn’t easily or at once return into the paths of 
steadiness, and many of the old wild out-of-bounds 
habits stuck to them as firmly as ever. While they 
had been quite little boys, the scrapes they got into 
in the school hadn’t much mattered to any one; but 
now they were in the upper school, all wrongdoers 
from which were sent up straight to the Doctor at 
once ; so they began to come under his notice ; and 
as they were a sort of leaders in a small way 
amongst their own cotemporaries, his eye, which was 
everywhere, was upon them. 

It was a toss-up whether they turned out well or 
ill, and so they were just the boys who caused most 
anxiety to such a master. You have been told of 
the first occasion on which they were sent up to the 
Doctor, and the remembrance of it was so pleasant 


THE AVON. 


216 

that they had much less fear of him than most boys 
of their standing had. “ It’s all his look,” Tom used 
to say to East, “that frightens fellows; don’t you 
remember, he never said any thing to us my first 
half-year, for being an hour late for locking-up ? ” 

The next time that Tom came before him, how- 
ever, the interview was of a very different kind. It 
happened just about the time at which we have now 
arrived, and was the first of a series of scrapes into 
which our hero managed now to tumble. 

The river Avon, at Rugby, is a slow and not 
very clear stream, in which chub, dace, roach, and 
other coarse fish are (or were) plentiful enough, 
together with a fair sprinkling of small jack, but no 
fish worth sixpence either for sport or food. It is, 
however, a capital river for bathing, as it has many 
nice small pools and several good reaches for swim- 
ming, all within about a mile of one another, and at 
an easy twenty-minutes’ walk from the school. 
This mile of water is rented, or used to be rented, 
for bathing purposes by the trustees of the school 
for the boys. The footpath to Brownsover crosses 
the river by “the Planks,” a curious old single- 
plank bridge, running for fifty or sixty yards into the 
flat meadows on each side of the river, — for in 
the winter there are frequent floods. Above the 
Planks were the bathing-places for the smaller boys : 
Sleath’s, the first bathing-place where all new boys 
had to begin, until they had proved to the bathing- 
men (three steady individuals who were paid to 
attend daily through the summer to prevent acci- 
dents) that they could swim pretty decently, when 


DISPUTED EIGHTS OF FISHING. 


217 


they were allowed to go on to Anstey’s, about one 
hundred and fifty yards below. Here there was a 
hole about six feet deep and twelve feet across, over 
which the puffing urchins struggled to the opposite 
side, and thought no small-beer of themselves for 
having been out of their depths. Below the Planks 
came larger and deeper holes, the first of which was 
Wratislaw's, and the last Swift’s, a famous hole ten 
or twelve feet deep in parts, and thirty yards across, 
from which there was a fine swimming reach right 
down to the mill. Swift’s was reserved for the sixth 
and fifth forms, and had a spring board and two 
sets of steps ; the others had one set of steps each, 
and were used indifferently by all the lower boys, 
though each house addicted itself more to one hole 
than to another. The school-house at this time 
affected Wratislaw’s hole, and Tom and East, who 
had learnt to swim like fishes, were to be found there 
as regular as the clock through the summer, always 
twice, and often three times a-day. 

Now the boys either had, or fancied they had, 
a right also to fish at their pleasure over the 
whole of this part of the river, and would not 
understand that the right (if any) only extended 
to the Rugby side. As ill-luck would have it, 
the gentleman who owned the opposite bank, after 
allowing it for some time without interference, 
had ordered his keepers not to let the boys 
fish on his side; the consequence of which had 
been, that there had been first wranglings and 
then fights between the keepers and boys; and 
so keen had the quarrel become, that the land- 


218 


DISPUTED BIGHTS OF FISHING. 


lord and his keepers, after a ducking had been 
inflicted on one of the latter, and a fierce fight 
ensued thereon, had been up to the great school 
at calling-over to identify the delinquents, and it 
was all the Doctor himself and five or six mas- 
ters could do to keep the peace. Not even his 

authority could prevent the hissing, and so strong 
was the feeling, that the four praepostors of the 
week walked up the school with their canes, 
shouting s-s-s-s-i-lenc-c-c-c-e at the top of their 
voices. However, the chief offenders for the time 
were flogged and kept in bounds, but the vic- 
torious party had brought a nice hornet’s nest 

about their ears. The landlord was hissed at 
the school gates as he rode past, and when he 
charged his horse at the mob of boys and tried 
to thrash them with his whip, was driven back by 
cricket-bats and wickets, and pursued with pebbles 
and fives’ balls ; while the wretched keepers’ lives 
were a burthen to them, from having to watch the 
waters so closely. 

The school-house boys of Tom’s standing, one 
and all, as a protest against this tyranny and 
cutting short of their lawful amusements, took to 
fishing in all ways, and especially by means of 
night-lines. The little tackle-maker at the bottom 
of the town would soon have made his fortune had 
the rage lasted, and several of the barbers began 
to lay in fishing-tackle. The boys had this great 
advantage over their enemies, that they spent a 
large portion of the day in nature’s garb by the 
river side, and so when tired of swimming, would 


CHAFFING A KEEPER. 


219 


get out on the other side and fish, or set night-lines 
till the keeper hove in sight, and then plunge in 
and swim back and mix with the other bathers, 
and the keepers were too wise to follow across the 
stream. 

While things were in this state, one day Tom 
and three or four others were bathing at Wratis- 
law’s, and had, as a matter of course, been taking 
up and re-setting night-lines. They had all left 
the water, and were sitting or standing about at 
their toilettes, in all costumes from a shirt up- 
wards, when they were aware of a man in a 
velveteen shooting-coat approaching from the other 
side. He was a new keeper, so they didn’t recog- 
nize or notice him, till he pulled up right opposite, 
and began : 

“ I see’d some of you young gentlemen over this 
side a-fishing just now.” 

“ Hullo, who are you ? what business is that of 
yours, old Velveteens ? ” 

“ I’m the new under-keeper, and master’s told 
me to keep a sharp look-out on all o’ you 
young chaps. And I tells ’ee I means business, 
and you’d better keep on your own side, or we 
shall fall out.” 

“ Well, that’s right, Velveteens — speak out, and 
let’s know your mind at once.” 

“ Look here, old boy,” cried East, holding up a 
miserable coarse fish or two and a small jack, 
u would you like to smell ’em, and see which bank 
they lived under ? ” 

a I’ll give you a bit of advice, keeper,” shouted 


220 


CHAFFING A KEEPER. 


Tom, who was sitting in his shirt paddling with his 
feet in the river ; “ you’d better go down there to 
Swift’s where the big boys are, they’re beggars at 
setting lines, and ’ll put you up to a wrinkle or two 
for catching the five-pounders.” Tom was nearest 
to the keeper, and that officer, who was getting 
angry at the chaff, fixed his eyes on our hero, as if 
to take a note of him for future use. Tom returned 
his gaze with a steady stare, and then broke into a 
laugh, and struck into the middle of a favourite 
school-house song — 

“ As I and my companions 
Were setting of a snare. 

The gamekeeper was watching us, 

For him we did not care : 

For we can wrestle and fight, my boys. 

And jump out anywhere. 

For ’tis my delight of a likely night. 

In the season of the year.” 

The chorus was taken up by the other boys with 
shouts of laughter, and the keeper turned away with 
a grunt, but evidently bent on mischief. The boys 
thought no more of the matter. 

But now came on the may-fly season ; the soft 
hazy summer weather lay sleepily along the rich 
meadows by Avon side, and the green and gray 
flies flickered with their graceful lazy up-and-down 
flight over the reeds and the water and the mea- 
dows, in myriads upon myriads. The may-flies 
must surely be the lotus-eaters of the ephemerae ; 
the happiest, laziest, carelessest fly that dances and 
dreams out his few hours of sunshiny life by English 
rivers. 


/ 


THE .RETURN MATCH WITH VELVETEENS. 221 


Every pitiful little coarse fish in the Avon was on 
the alert for the flies, and gorging his wretched car- 
cass with hundreds daily, the gluttonous rogues ! 
and every lover of the gentle craft was out to avenge 
the poor may-flies. 

So one fine Thursday afternoon, Tom having bor- 
rowed East’s new rod, started by himself to the river. 
He fished for some time with small success, not a 
fish would rise at him ; but as he prowled along the 
bank he was presently aware of mighty ones feeding 
in a pool on the opposite side, under the shade of a 
Jiuge willow-tree. The stream was deep here, but 
some fifty yards below was a shallow, for which 
he made off hot-foot ; and forgetting landlords, keep- 
ers, solemn prohibitions of the Doctor, and every 
thing else, pulled up his trousers, plunged across, and 
in. three minutes was creeping along on all-fours to- 
wards the clump of willows. 

It isn’t often that great chub, or any other coarse 
fish, are in earnest about any thing, but just then 
they were thoroughly bent on feeding, and in half 
an hour Master Tom had deposited three thumping 
fellows at the foot of the giant willow. As he was 
baiting for a fourth pounder, and just going to 
throw in again, he became aware of a man coming 
up the bank not one hundred yards off. Another 
look told him that it was the under-keeper. Could 
he reach the shallow before him ? No, not carrying 
his rod. Nothing for it but the tree ; so Tom laid 
his bones to it, shinning up as fast as he could, and 
dragging up his rod after him. He had just time 
to reach and crouch along upon a huge branch some 
20 


222 


THE RETURN MATCH WITH VELVETEENS. 


ten feet up, which stretched out over the river, when 
the keeper arrived at the clump. Tom’s heart beat 
fast as he came under the tree: two steps more and 
he would have passed, when, as ill-luck would have 
it, the gleam on the scales of the dead fish caught 
his eye, and he made a dead point at the foot of the 
tree. He picked up the fish one by one ; his eye 
and touch told him that they had been alive and 
feeding within the hour. Tom crouched lower 
along the branch, and heard the keeper beating 
the clump. “ If I could only get the rod hidden,” 
thought he, and began gently shifting it to get 
it alongside him ; “ willow-trees don’t throw out 
straight hickory shoots twelve feet long, with no 
leaves, worse luck.” Alas ! the keeper catches the 
rustle, and then a sight of the rod, and then of Tom’s 
hand and arm. 

“ Oh, be up ther’, be ’ee ? ” says he, running under 
the tree. “ Now you come down this minute.” 

“ Tree’d at last,” thinks Tom, making no answer, 
and keeping as close as possible, but working away 
at the rod which he takes to pieces : “ I’m in for it, 
unless I can starve him out.” And then he begins 
to meditate getting along the branch for a plunge, 
and scramble to the other side ; but the small 
branches are so thick, and the opposite bank so 
difficult, that the keeper will have lots of time to 
get round by the ford before he can get out, so he 
gives that up. And now he hears the keeper begin- 
ning to scramble up the trunk. That will never do ; 
so he scrambles himself back to where his branch 
joins the trunk, and stands with lifted rod. 


YELYETEENS WELL IN. 


223 


“ Hullo, Velveteens, mind your fingers if you come 
any higher.” 

The keeper stops and looks up, and then with a 
grin says: u Oh ! be you, be it, young measter? 
Well, here’s luck. Now I tells ’ee to come down at 
once, and ’t’ll be best for ’ee.” 

“ Thank ’ee, Velveteens, I’m very comfortable,” 
said Tom, shortening the rod in his hand, and pre- 
paring for battle. 

“ Werry well, please yourself,” says the keeper, 
descending, however, to the ground again, and tak- 
ing his seat on the bank ; “ I b’eant in no hurry, so 
you ined’ take yer time. I’ll larn ’ee to gee honest 
folk names afore I’ve done with ’ee.” 

“ My luck as usual,” thinks Tom ; “ what a fool I 
was to give him a black. If I’d called him 1 keeper’ 
now I might get off. The return match is all his 
way.” 

The keeper quietly proceeded to take out his pipe, 
fill, and light it, keeping an eye on Tom, who now 
sat disconsolately across the branch looking at 
keeper — a pitiful sight for men and fishes. The 
more he thought of it the less he liked it. “ It must 
be getting near second calling-over,” thinks he. 
Keeper smokes on stolidly. “ If he takes me up, I 
shall be flogged safe enough. I can’t sit here all 
night. Wonder if he’ll rise at silver.” 

“ I say, keeper,” said he meekly, “ et me go for 
two bob ? ” 

“ Not for twenty neither,” grunts his persecutor. 
And so they sat on till long past second calling- 
over, and the sun came slanting in through the 


224 


VELVETEENS’ REVENGE. 


willow branches, and telling of locking-up near to 
hand. 

“ I’m coming down, keeper,” said Tom at last 
with a sigh, fairly tired out. “ Now what are you 
going to do ? ” 

“ Walk ’ee up to school, and give ’ee over to the 
Doctor ; them’s my orders,” says Velveteens, knock- 
ing the ashes out of his fourth pipe, and standing up 
and shaking himself. 

“ Very good,” said Tom ; “ but hands off you 
know. I’ll go with you quietly, so no collaring or 
that sort of thing.” 

Keeper looked at him a minute — “ Werry good,” 
said he at last ; and so Tom descended, and wended 
his way drearily by the side of the keeper up to the 
school-house, where they arrived just at locking-up. 
As they passed the school-gates, the Tadpole and 
several others, who were standing there, caught the 
state of things, and rushed out, crying “rescue;” 
but Tom shook his head, so they only followed to 
the Doctor’s gate, and went back sorely puzzled. 

How changed and stern the Doctor seemed from 
the last time that Tom was up there, as the keeper 
told the story, not omitting to state how Tom had 
called him blackguard names. M Indeed, sir,” broke 
in the culprit, “ it was only Velveteens.” The Doc- 
tor only asked one question. 

“ You know the rule about the banks, Brown ? ” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ Then wait for me to-morrow, after first lesson.” 

“ I thought so,” muttered Tom. 

“ And about the rod, sir ? ” went on the keeper ; 
“ Master’s told we as we might have all the rods — ” 


MOKE SCRAPES. 


225 


“ Oh, please sir,” broke in Tom, “ the rod isn’t 
mine.” The Doctor looked puzzled, but the keeper, 
who was a good-hearted fellow, and melted at 
Tom’s evident distress, gave up his claim. Tom 
was flogged next morning, and a few days after- 
wards met Velveteens, and presented him with 
half-a-crown for giving up the rod claim, and they 
became sworn friends ; and I regret to say that 
Tom had many more fish from under the willow 
that may-fly season, and was never caught again 
by Velveteens. 

It wasn’t three weeks before Tom, and now East 
by his side, were again in the awful presence. This 
time, however, the Doctor was not so terrible. A 
few days before, they had been fagged at fives to 
fetch the balls that went off the court. While 
standing watching the game, they saw five or six 
nearly new balls hit on the top of the school. “ I 
say, Tom,” said East, when they were dismissed, 
u couldn’t we get those, balls somehow ? ” 

u Let’s try, any how.” 

So they reconnoitred the walls carefully, borrowed 
a coal hammer from old Stumps, bought some big 
nails, and after one or two attempts, scaled the 
schools, and possessed themselves of huge quanti- 
ties of fives’ balls. The place pleased them so 
much that they spent all their spare time there, 
scratching and cutting their names on the top of 
every tower ; and at last having exhausted all other 
places, finished up with inscribing H. East, T. 
Brown, on the minute hand of the great clock. In 
the doing of which, they held the minute-hand, and 
20 * 




226 


MORE SCRAPES. 


disturbed the clock’s economy. So next morning, 
when masters and boys came trooping down to 
prayers, and entered the quadrangle, the injured 
minute-hand was indicating three minutes to the 
hour. They all pulled up, and took their time. 
When the hour struck, doors were closed, and half 
the school late. Thomas being set to make in- 
quiry, discovers their names on the minute-hand, 
and reports accordingly ; and they are sent for, a 
knot of their friends making derisive and pantomimic 
allusions to what their fate will be, as they walk 
off. 

But the Doctor, after hearing their story, doesn’t 
make much of it, and only gives them thirty lines of 
Homer to learn by heart, and a lecture on the likeli- 
hood of such exploits ending in broken bones. 

Alas, almost the next day was one of the great 
fairs in the town ; and as several rows and other 
disagreeable accidents had of late taken place on 
these occasions, the Doctor gives out, after prayers 
in the morning, that no boy is to go down into the 
town. Wherefore East and Tom, for no earthly 
pleasure except that of doing what they are told not 
to do, start away after second lesson, and making 
a short circuit through the fields, strike a back lane 
which leads into the town, go down it, and run 
plump upon one of the masters as they emerge into 
the High street. The master in question, though a 
very clever, is not a righteous man ; he has already 
caught several of his own pupils, and gives them 
lines to learn, while he sends East and Tom, who are 
not his pupils, up to the Doctor ; who, on learning 


MORE SCRAPES. 


227 


that they had been at prayers in the morning, flogs 
them soundly. 

The flogging did them no good at the time, for 
the injustice of their captor was rankling in their 
minds ; but it was just the end of the half, and on 
the next evening but one Thomas knocks at their 
door, and says the Doctor wants to see them. They 
look at one another in silent dismay. What can it 
be now ? Which of their countless wrong-doings 
can he have heard of officially ? However, it’s no 
use delaying, so up they go to the study. There 
they find the Doctor, not angry, but very grave. 
1 He has sent for them to speak very seriously before 
they go home. They have each been flogged sev- 
eral times in the half year for direct and wilful 
breaches of rules. This cannot go on. They are 
doing no good to themselves or others, and now 
they are getting up in the school, and have in- 
fluence. They seem to think that rules are made 
capriciously, and for the pleasure of the masters; 
but this is not so, they are made for the good of the 
whole school, and must and shall be obeyed. Those 
who thoughtlessly or wilfully break them will not be 
allowed to stay at the school. He should be sorry 
if they had to leave, as the school might do them 
both much good, and wishes them to think very se- 
riously in the holidays over what he has said. Good 
night.’ 

And so the two hurry off horribly scared ; the idea 
of having to* leave has never crossed their minds, and 
is quite unbearable. 

As they go out they meet at the door old Holmes, 


228 


THE DOCTOR REIGNING. 


a sturdy cheery praepostor of another house, who 
goes in to the Doctor ; and they hear his genial 
hearty greeting of the new-comer, so different to their 
own reception, as the door closes, and return to their 
study with heavy hearts, and tremendous resolves to 
break no more rules. 

Five minutes afterwards the master of their form, 
a late arrival and a model young master, knocks at 
the Doctor’s study door. “ Come in ! ” and as he 
enters the Doctor goes on to Holmes — “ you see I do 
not know any thing of the case officially, and if I 
take any notice of it at all, I must publicly expel the 
boy. I don’t wish to do that, for I think there is 
some good in him. There’s nothing for it but a good 
sound thrashing.” He paused to shake hands with 
the master, which Holmes does also, and then pre- 
pares to leave. 

“ I understand. Good night, sir.” 

“ Good night, Holmes. And remember,” added 
the Doctor, emphasizing the words, “ a good sound 
thrashing before the whole house.” 

The door closed on Holmes, and the Doctor, in 
answer to the puzzled look of his lieutenant, ex- 
plained shortly. “ A gross case of bullying. Whar- 
ton, the head of the house, is a very good fellow, but 
slight and weak, and severe physical pain is the only 
way to deal with such a case ; so I have asked 
Holmes to take it up. He is very careful and trust- 
worthy, and has plenty of strength. I wish all the 
sixth had as much. We must have it here, if we are 
to keep order at all.” 

Now I don’t want any wiseacres to read this 


THE DOCTOR REIGNING. 


229 


book ; but if they should, of course, they will prick 
up their long ears, and howl, or rather bray, at the 
above story. Very good, I don’t object; but what 
I have to add for you boys is this, that Holmes 
called a levy of his house after breakfast next morn- 
ing, made them a speech on the case of bullying in 
question, and then gave the bully a “ good sound 
thrashing ; ” and that years afterwards, that boy 
sought out Holmes, and thanked him, saying it had 
been the kindest act which had ever been done upon 
him, and the turning point in his character ; and a 
very good fellow he became, and a credit to his 
school. 

After some other talk between them, the Doctor 
said, “ I want to speak to you about two boys in 
your form, East and Brown ; I have just been speak- 
ing to them. What do you think of them ? ” 

“ Well, they are not hard workers, and very 
thoughtless, and full of spirits — but I can’t help 
liking them, I think they are sound good fellows at 
the bottom.” 

“ I’m glad of it. I think so too. But they make 
me very uneasy. They are taking the lead a good 
deal amongst the fags in my house, for they are very 
active, bold fellows. I should be sorry to lose them, 
but I shan’t let them stay if I don’t see them gaining 
character and manliness. In another year they may 
do great harm to all the younger boys.” 

“ Oh, I hope you won’t send them away,” pleaded 
their master. 

“ Not if I can help it. But now I never feel sure, 
after any half-holiday, that I shan’t have to flog one 


230 


THE DOCTOR REIGNING. 


of them next morning for some foolish thoughtless 
scrape. I quite dread seeing either of them.” 

They were both silent for a minute. Presently 
the Doctor began again : 

u They don’t feel that they have any duty or work 
to do in the school, and how is one to make them 
feel it ? ” 

“ I think if either of them had some little boy to 
take care of, it would steady them. Brown is the 
most reckless of the two, I should say; East wouldn’t 
get into so many scrapes without him.” 

“ Well,” said the Doctor, with something like a 
sigh, “ I’ll think of it.” And they went on to talk of 
other subjects. 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


PART II. 


** I [hold] it truth, with him who sings 
To one clear haip in divers tones, 

That men may rise on stepping-stones 
Of their dead selves to higher things.* 

Tennyson 






CHAPTER I. 

HOW THE TIDE TURNED. 

** Once to every man and nation, comes the moment to decide 

In the strife of Truth with Falsehood, for the good or evil side : 
****** 

Then it is the brave man chooses, while the coward stands aside. 

Doubting in his abject spirit, till his Lord is crucified.” 

Lowell. 

The turning point in our hero’s school career had 
now come, and the manner of it was as follows. On 
the evening of the first day of the next half-year, 
Tom, East, and another school-house boy, who had 
just been dropped at the Spread Eagle by the old 
Regulator, rushed into the matron’s room in high 
spirits, such as all real boys are in when they first 
get back, however fond they may be of home. 

“ Well, Mrs. Wixie,” shouted one, seizing on the 
methodical active little dark-eyed woman, who was 
busy stowing away the linen of the boys who had 
already arrived into their several pigeon-holes, “ here 
we are again you see, jolly as ever. Let us help you 
put the things away.” 

“ And, Mary,” cried another, (she was called indif- 
ferently by either name,) u who’s come back ? Has 
the Doctor made old Jones leave ? How many new 
boys are there ? 


21 


234 


BLACK MONDAY. 


“ Am I and East to have Gray’s study ? You 
•know you promised to get it for us if you could,” 
shouted Tom. 

u And am I to sleep in Number 4? ” roared East. 

“ How’s old Sam, and Bogle, and Sally ? ” 

“ Bless the boys,” cries Mary, at last getting in a 
word, “ why you’ll shake me to death. There, now 
do go away up to the housekeeper’s room and get 
your suppers ; you know I haven’t time to talk — 
you’ll find plenty more in the house. Now, Master 
East, do let those things alone — you’re mixing up 
three new boys’ things.” And she rushed at East, 
who escaped round the open trunks holding up a 
prize. 

“ Hullo, look here, Tommy,” shouted he, “ here’s 
fun ! ” and he brandished above his head some pretty 
little night-caps, beautifully made and marked, the 
work of loving fingers in some distant country home. 
The kind mother and sisters, who sewed that deli- 
cate stitching with aching hearts, little thought of 
the trouble they might be bringing on the young 
head for which they were meant. The little matron 
was wiser, and snatched the caps from East before 
he could look at the name on them. 

“ Now, Master East, I shall be very angry if you 
don’t go,” said she ; “ there’s some capital cold beef 
and pickles up stairs, and I won’t have you old boys 
in my room first night.” 

“ Hurrah for the pickles ! Come along, Tommy, 
come along, Smith. We shall find out who the 
young count is, I’ll be bound;, I hope he’ll sleep in 
my room. Mary’s always vicious first week.” 


THE SADDLE IS PUT ON TOM. 


235 


As the boys turned to leave the room, the matron 
touched Tom’s arm, and said, “ Master Brown, 
please stop a minute. I want to speak to you.” 

“ Very well, Mary. I’ll come in a minute, East ; 
don’t finish the pickles — ” 

u Oh, Master Brown,” went on the little matron 
when the rest had gone, “ you’re to have Gray’s 
study, Mrs. Arnold says. And she wants you to 
take in this young gentleman. He’s a new boy and 
thirteen years old, though he don’t look it. He’s very 
delicate, and has never been from home before. 
And I told Mrs. Arnold I thought you’d be kind to 
him, and see that they don’t bully him at first. He’s 
put into your form, and I’ve given him the bed next 
to yours in Number 4; so East can’t sleep there this 
half.” 

Tom was rather put about by this speech. He 
had got the double study which he coveted, but here 
were conditions attached which greatly moderated 
his joy. He looked across the room, and in the far 
corner of the sofa was aware of a slight pale boy, 
with large blue eyes and light fair hair, who seemed 
ready to shrink through the floor. He saw at a 
glance that the little stranger was just the boy whose 
first half-year at a public school would be misery to 
himself if he were let alone, or constant anxiety to 
any one who meant to see him through his troubles. 
Tom was too honest to take in the youngster and 
then let him shift for himself ; and if ho took him 
as his chum instead of East, where were all his pet 
plans of having a bottled-beer cellar under his win- 
dow, and making night-lines and slings, and plotting 


236 


THE SADDLE IS PUT ON TOM. 


expeditions to Brownsover Mills and Caldecott’s 
Spinney? East and he had made up their minds 
to get this study, and then every night from locking- 
up till ten they would be together, to talk about 
fishing, drink bottled-beer, read Marryatt’s novels, 
and sort birds’ eggs. And this new boy would most 
likely never go out of the close, and would be afraid 
of wet feet, and always getting laughed at, and 
called Molly, or Jenny, or some derogatory feminine 
nickname. 

The matron watched him for a moment, and saw 
what was passing in his mind, and so, like a wise 
negotiator, threw in an appeal to his warm heart. 
“ Poor little fellow,” said she in almost a whisper, 
“ his father’s dead, and he’s got no brothers. And 
his mamma, such a kind sweet lady, almost broke her 
heart at leaving him this morning ; and she said 
one of his sisters was like to die of decline, and 
so — ” 

“ Well, well,” burst in Tom, with something like 
a sigh at the effort, “ I suppose I must give up East. 
Come along, young ’un. What’s your name ? We’ll 
go and have some supper, and then I’ll show yon 
oui study.” 

“ His name’s George Arthur,” said the matron, 
walking up to him with Tom, who grasped his little 
delicate hand as the proper preliminary to making a 
chum of him, and felt as if he could have blown him 
away. “ I’ve had his books and things put into the 
study, which his mamma has had new papered, and 
the sofa covered, and new green-baize curtains over 
the door,” (the diplomatic matron threw this in, to 


TEA WITH THE DOCTOR. 


237 


show that the new boy was contributing largely to 
the partnership comforts.) “ And Mrs. Arnold told 
me to say,” she added, “ that she should like you 
both to come up to tea with her. You know the 
way, Master Brown, and the things are just gone up, 
I know.” 

Here was an announcement for Master Tom ! He 
was to go up to tea the first night, just as if he weie 
a sixth or fifth-form boy, and of importance in the 
school world, instead of the most reckless young 
scapegrace amongst the fags. He felt himself lifted 
on to a higher moral and social platform at once. 
Nevertheless, he couldn’t give up without a sigh the 
idea of the jolly supper in the housekeeper’s room 
with East and the rest, and a rush round to all the 
studies of his friends afterwards, to pour out the 
deeds and wonders of the holidays, to plot fifty plans 
for the coming half-year, and to gather news of who 
had left, and what new boys had come, who had 
got who’s study, and where the new praepostors 
slept. However, Tom consoled himself with think- 
ing that he couldn’t have done all this with the new 
boy at his heels, and so marched off along the pas- 
sages to the Doctor’s private house, with his young 
charge in tow, in monstrous good humour with him- 
self and all the world. 

It is needless, and would be impertinent to tell, 
how the two young boys were received in that 
drawing-room. The lady who presided there is still 
living, and has carried with her to her peaceful 
home in the North the respect and love of all those 
who ever felt and shared that gentle and high-bred 


238 


TEA. WITH THE DOCTOR. 


hospitality. Aye, many is the brave heart now 
doing its work and bearing its load in country cura- 
cies, London chambers, under the Indian sun, and in 
Australian towns and clearings, which looks back 
with fond and grateful memory to that school-house 
drawing-room, and dates much of its highest and 
best training to the lessons learnt there. 

Besides Mrs. Arnold and one or two of the elder 
children, there were one of the younger masters, 
young Brooke, who was now in the sixth and had 
succeeded to his brother’s position and influence, 
and another sixth-form boy there, talking together 
before the fire. The master and young Brooke, 
now a great strapping fellow six feet high, eighteen 
years old, and powerful as a coal-heaver, nodded 
kindly to. Tom to his intense glory, and then went 
on talking ; the other did not notice them. The 
hostess, after a few kind words, which led the boys 
at once and insensibly to feel at their ease, to begin 
talking to one another, left them with her own 
children while she finished a letter. The young 
ones got on fast and well, Tom holding forth about 
a prodigious pony he had been riding out hunting, 
and hearing stories of the winter glories of the lakes, 
when tea came in, and immediately after the Doctor 
himself. 

How frank, and kind, and manly, was his greet- 
ing to the party by the fire ; it did Tom’s heart good 
to see him and young Brooke shake hands, and look 
one another in the face ; and he didn’t fail to remark 
that Brooke was nearly as tall, and quite as broad 
as the Doctor. And his cup was full, when in 


TEA WITH THE DOCTOR. 


239 


another moment his master turned to him with an- 
other warm shake of the hand, and seemingly obliv- 
ious of all the late scrapes which he had been getting 
into, said, “ Ah, Brown, you here! I hope you left 
your father and all well at home.” 

“ Yes, sir, quite well.” 

“ And this is the little fellow who is to share your 
study. Well, he doesn’t look as we should like to see 
him. He wants some Rugby air, and cricket. And 
you must take him some good long walks, to Bilton 
Grange, and Caldecott’s Spinney, and show him 
what a little pretty country we have about here.” 

Tom wondered if the Doctor knew that his visits 
to Bilton Grange were for the purpose of taking 
rooks’ nests (a proceeding strongly discountenanced 
by the owner thereof), and those to Caldecott’s 
Spinney, were prompted chiefly by the conveniences 
for setting night-lines. What didn’t the Doctor 
know ? And what a noble use he always made of 
it. He almost resolved to abjure rook-pies and 
night-lines for ever. The tea went merrily off, the 
Doctor now talking of holiday doings, and then of 
the prospects of the half-year, what chance there 
was for the Balliol scholarship, whether the eleven 
would be a good one. Everybody was at their ease, 
and everybody felt that he, young as he might be, 
was of some use in the little school world, and had 
a work to do there. 

Soon after tea the Doctor went off to his study, 
and the young boys a few minutes afterwards took 
their leave, and went out of the private door which 
led from the Doctor’s house into the middle passage. 


240 


Arthur’s debut. 


At the fire, at the further end of the passage, was 
a crowd of boys in loud taik and laughter. There 
was a sudden pause when the door opened, and 
then a great shout of greeting, as Tom was recog- 
nized marching down the passage. 

“ Hullo, Brown, where do you come from ? ” 

“ Oh, I’ve been to tea with the Doctor,” says Tom, 
with great dignity. 

“ My eye,” cried East. “ Oh ! so that’s why Mary 
called you back, and you didn’t come to supper. 
You lost something — that beef and pickles was no 
end good.” 

“ I say, young fellow,” cried Hall, detecting 
Arthur and catching him by the collar, “ what’s 
your name ? Where do you come from ? How old 
are you ? ” 

Tom saw Arthur shrink back and look scared as 
all the group turned to him, but thought it best to 
let him answer, just standing by his side to support 
in case of need. 

u Arthur, sir. I come from Devonshire.” 

“ Don’t call me 1 sir,’ you young muff. How old 
are you ? ” 

“ Thirteen.” 

“ Can you sing? ” 

The poor boy was trembling and hesitating. Tom 
struck in — “ You be hanged, Tadpole. He’ll have 
to sing, whether he can or not, Saturday twelve 
weeks, and that’s long enough off yet.” 

“ Do you know him at home, Brown ? ” 

“ No, but he’s my chum in Gray’s old study, and 
it’s near prayer time, and I haven’t had a look at it 
yet. Come along, Arthur.” 


Arthur's debut. 


241 


Away went the two, Tom longing to get his 
charge safe under cover, where he might advise him 
on his deportment. 

“ What a queer chum for Tom Brown,” was the 
comment at the fire ; and it must be confessed so 
thought Tom himself, as he lighted his candle, and 
surveyed the new green-baize curtains, and the car- 
pet and sofa with much satisfaction. 

“ I say, Arthur, what a brick your mother is to 
make us so cosy. But look here now, you must 
answer straight up when the fellows speak to you, 
and don’t be afraid. If you’re afraid, you’ll get 
bullied. And don’t you say you can sing ; and 
don’t you ever talk about home, or your mother 
and sisters.” 

Poor little Arthur looked ready to cry. 

“ But please,” said he, “ mayn’t I talk about — 
about home to you ? ” 

“ Oh, yes, I like it. But don’t talk to boys you 
don’t know, or they’ll call you home-sick, or mam- 
ma’s darling, or some such stuff. What a jolly desk ! 
is that your’s? And what stunning binding! why, 
your school-books look like novels.” 

And Tom was soon deep in Arthur’s goods and 
chattels, all new and good enough for a fifth-form 
boy, and hardly thought of his friends outside, till 
the prayer-bell rung. 

I have already described the school-house prayers ; 
they were the same on the first night as on the other 
nights, save for the gaps caused by the absence of 
those boys who came late, and the line of new boys 
who stood all together at the further table — of all 


242 


Arthur’s debut. 


sorts and sizes, like young bears, with all their 
troubles to come, as Tom’s father had said to him 
when he was in the same position. He thought of 
it as he looked at the line, and poor little slight 
Arthur standing with them, and as he was leading 
him up stairs to Number 4, directly after prayers, 
and showing him his bed. It was a huge, high, airy 
room, with two large windows looking on to the 
school-close. There were twelve beds in the room. 
The one in the furthest corner by the fireplace, occu 
pied by the sixth-form boy who was responsible 
for the discipline of the room, and the rest by boys 
in the lower-fifth and other junior form's, all fags, 
(for the fifth-form boys, as has been said, slept in 
rooms by themselves.) Being fags, the eldest of 
them was not more than about sixteen years old, 
and were all bound to be up and in bed by ten ; the 
sixth-form boys came to bed from ten to a quarter 
past, (at which time the old verger came round to 
put the candles out,) except when they sat up to 
read. 

Within a few minutes, therefore, of their entry, all 
the other boys who slept in Number 4 had come up. 
The little fellows went quietly to their own beds, 
and began undressing and talking to one another in 
whispers; while the elder, amongst whom was Tom, 
sat chatting about on one another’s beds, with their 
jackets and waistcoats off. Poor little Arthur was 
overwhelmed with the novelty of his position. The 
idea of sleeping in the room with strange boys had 
clearly never crossed his mind before, and was as 
painful as it was strange to him. He cou.d hardly 


LESSON NO. I. 


243 


bear to take his jacket off; however, presently with 
an effort off it came, and then he paused and looked 
at Tom, who was sitting at the bottom of his bed, 
talking and laughing. 

“ Please, Brown,” he whispered, “ may I wash my 
face and hands ? ” 

“ Of course, if you like,” said Tom staring; “that’s 
your washhand-stand under the window, second 
from your bed. You’ll have to go down for more 
water in the morning if you use it all.” And on 
he went with his talk, while Arthur stole timidly 
from between the beds out to his washhand-stand, 
and began his ablutions, thereby drawing for a mo- 
ment on himself the attention of the room. 

On went the talk and laughter. Arthur finished 
his washing and undressing, and put on his night- 
gown. He then looked round more nervously than 
ever. Two or three of the little boys were already 
in bed, sitting up with their chins on their knees. 
The light burned clear, the noise went on. It was 
a trying moment for the poor little lonely boy ; how- 
ever this time he didn’t ask Tom what he might or 
might not do, but dropped on his knees by his bed- 
side, as he had done every day from his childhood, to 
open his heart to Him, who heareth the cry and 
beareth the sorrows of the tender child, and the 
strong man in agony. 

Tom was sitting at the bottom of his bed unlac- 
ing his boots, so that his back was towards Arthur, 
and he didn’t see what had happened, and looked up 
in wonder at the sudden silence. Then two or three 
boys laughed and sneered, and a big brutal fellow, 


244 


LESSON NO. I. 


who was standing in the middle of the room, picked 
up a slipper, and shied it at the kneeling boy, calling 
him a snivelling young shaver. Then Tom saw the 
whole, and the next moment the boot he had just 
pulled off flew straight at the head of the bully, who 
had just time to throw up his arm and catch it on 
his elbow. 

“ Confound you, Brown, what’s that for?” roared 
he, stamping with pain. 

“ Never mind what I mean,” said Tom, stepping 
on to the floor, every drop of blood in his body ting- 
ling ; “ if any fellow wants the other boot, he knows 
how to get it.” 

What would have been the result is doubtful, for 
at this moment the sixth-form boy came in, and not 
another word could be said. Tom and the rest 
rushed into bed and finished their unrobing there, 
and the old verger, as punctual as the clock, had put 
out the candle in another minute, and toddled on to 
the next room, shutting their door with his usual 
“ Good night, genl’m’n.” 

There were many boys in the room by whom that 
little scene was taken to heart before they slept. 
But sleep seemed to have deserted the pillow of 
poor Tom. For some time his excitement, and the 
flood of memories which chased one another through 
his brain, kept him from thinking or resolving. His 
head throbbed, his heart leapt, and he could hardly 
keep himself from springing out of bed and rushing 
about the room. Then the thought of his own 
mother came across him, and the promise he had 
made at her knee, years ago, never to forget to 


LESSON NO. I. 


245 


1 


kneel by his oedside, and _ give himself up to his 
Father, before he laid his head on the pillow, from 
which it might never rise ; and he lay down gently 
and cried as if his heart would break. He was only 
fourteen years old. 

It was no light act of courage in those days, my 
dear boys, for a little fellow to say his prayers 
publicly, even at Rugby. A few years later, when 
Arnold’s manly piety had begun to leaven the school, 
the tables turned ; before he died, in the school- 
house at least, and I believe in the other houses, 
the rule was the other way. But poor Tom had 
come to school in other times. The first few nights 
after he came he did not kneel down because of the 
noise, but sat up in bed till the candle was out, and 
then stole out and said his prayers, in fear lest some 
one should find him out. So did many another 
poor little fellow. Then he began to think that he 
might just as well say his prayers in bed, and then 
that it didn’t matter whether he was kneeling, or 
sitting, or lying down. And so it had come to pass 
with Tom, as with all who will not confess their 
Lord before men ; and for the last year he had 
probably not said his prayers in earnest a dozen 
times. 

Poor Tom ! the first and bitterest feeling which 
was like to break his heart, was the sense of his 
own cowardice. The vice of all others which he 
loathed was brought in and burned in on his own 
soul. He had lied to his mother, to his conscience, 
to his God. How could he bear it ? And then the 
poor little weak boy, whom he had pitied and almost 
22 


\ v ' 


24 G 


LESSON NO. I. 


scorned for his weakness, had done that which he, 
braggart as h^was, dared not do. The first dawn 
of comfort came to him in swearing to himself that 
he woukTstand by that boy through thick and thin, 
and cheer him, and help him, and bear his burthens, 
for the good deed done that night. Then he re- 
solved to write home next day and tell his mother 
all, and what a coward her son had been. And then 
peace came to him as he resolved, lastly, to bear his 
testimony next morning. The morning would be 
harder than the night to begin with, but he felt that 
he could not afford to let one chance slip. Several 
times he faltered, for the devil showed him first, all 
his old friends calling him 11 Saint,” and “ Square- 
toes,” and a dozen hard names, and whispered to 
him that his motives would be misunderstood, and 
he would only be left alone with the new boy ; 
whereas it was his duty to keep all means of in- 
fluence, that he might do good to the largest num- 
ber. And then came the more subtle temptation, 
“ Shall I not be showing myself braver than others 
by doing this ? Have I any right to begin it now ? 
Ought I not rather to pray in my own study, letting 
other boys know that I do so, and trying to lead 
them to it, while in public at least I should go on 
as I have done ? ” However, his good angel was 
too strong that night, and he turned on his side and 
slept, tired of trying to reason, but resolved to follow 
the impulse which had been so strong, and in which 
he had found peace. 

Next morning he was up and washed and d.essed, 
all but his jacket and waistcoat, just as. the ten 


TOM LEARNS HIS LESSON. 


247 


minutes’ bell began to ring, and then in the face of 
the whole room knelt down to pray. .JTot five words 
could he say — the bell mocked him ; he was listen- 
ing for every whisper in the room — what were they 
all thinking of him? He was ashamed to go on 
kneeling, ashamed to rise from his knees. At last, 
as it were from his inmost heart, a still small voice 
seemed to breathe forth the words of the publican, 
“ God be merciful to me a sinner ! ” He repeated 
them over and over, clinging to them as for his life, 
and rose from his knees comforted and humbled, and 
ready to face the whole world. It was not needed ; 
two other boys besides Arthur had already followed 
his example, and he went down to the great school 
with a glimmering of another lesson in his heart — 
the lesson that he who has conquered his own coward 
spirit has conquered the whole outward world ; and 
that other one which the old prophet learnt in the 
cave at Mount Horeb, when he hid his face, and the 
still small voice asked, u What doest thou here, 
Elijah ? ” that however we may fancy ourselves 
alone on the side of good, the King and Lord of 
men is nowhere without His witnesses ; for in every 
society, however seemingly corrupt and godless, 
there are those who have not bowed the knee to 
Baal 

He found, too, how greatly he had exaggerated the 
effect to be produced by his act. For a few nights 
there was a sneer or a laugh when he knelt down, 
but this passed off soon, and one by one all the 
other boys but three or four followed the lead. I 
fear that this was in some measure owing to the 


248 


' TOM LEARNS HIS LESSON. 


fact, that Tom could probably have thrashed any 
boy in the room except the praepostor ; at any rate, 
everybody knew that he would try upon very slight 
provocation, and didn’t choose to run the risk of a 
hard fight because Tom Brown had taken a fancy ^ 
to say his prayers. Some of the small boys of 
Number 4 communicated the new state of things 
to their chums, and in several other rooms the poor 
little fellows tried it. on ; in one instance or so, where 
the praepostor heard of it and interfered very deci- 
dedly, with partial success ; but in the rest, after a 
short struggle, the confessors were bullied or laughed 
down, and the old state of things went on for some 
time ionger. Before either Tom Brown or Arthur 
left the school-house, there was no room in which it 
had not become the regular custom. I trust it is so 
still, and that the old heathen state of things has 
gone out for ever. 


CHAPTER II. 


THE NEW BOY. 

“ And Heaven’s rich instincts in him grew 
As effortless as woodland nooks 
Send violets up and paint them blue.” — Lowell. 

I do not mean to recount all the little troubles 
and annoyances which thronged upon Tom at the 
beginning of this half-year, in his new character of 
bear-leader to a gentle little boy straight from home. 
He seemed to himself to have become a new boy 
again, without any of the long-suffering and meek- 
ness indispensable for supporting that character 
with moderate success. From morning till night he 
had the feeling of responsibility on his mind, and 
even if he left Arthur in their study or in the close 
for an hour, was never at ease till he had him in 
sight again. He waited for him at the doors of the 
school after every lesson and every calling-over ; 
watched that no tricks were played him, and none 
but the regulation questions asked ; kept his eye on 
his plate at dinner and breakfast, to see that no unfair 
depredations were made upon his viands ; in short, 
as East remarked, cackled after him like a hen with 
one chick. 

Arthur took a long time thawing too, which made 
it all the harder work ; was sadly timid ; scarcely 
22 * 


250 


tom’s trials. 


ever spoke unless Tom spoke to him first; and, 
worst of all, would agree with him in everything, 
the hardest thing in the world for Brown to bear. 
He got quite angry sometimes, as they sat together 
of a night in their study, at this provoking habit of 
agreement, and was on the point of breaking out a 
dozen times with a lecture upon the propriety of a 
fellow having a will of his own and speaking out ; 
but managed to restrain himself by the thought that 
it might only frighten Arthur, and the remembrance 
of the lesson he had learnt from him on his first night 
at Number 4. Then he would resolve to sit still, and 
not say a word till Arthur began ; but he was always 
beat at that game, and had presently to begin talking 
in despair, fearing lest Arthur might think he . was 
vexed at something if he didn’t, and dog-tired of sit- 
ting tongue-tied. 

It was had work ! But Tom had taken it up, and 
meant to stick to it, and go through with it, so as to 
satisfy himself ; in which resolution he was much 
assisted by the chaffing of East and his other old 
friends, who began to call him “ dry-nurse,” and oth- 
erwise to break their small wit on him. But when 
they took other ground, as -they did every now and 
then, Tom was sorely puzzled. 

“ Tell you what, Tommy,” East would say, 
you’ll spoil young hopeful with too much cod- 
dling. Why can’t you let him go about by him- 
self, and find his own level ? He’ll never be worth 
a button, if you go on keeping him under your 
skirts.” 

w Well, but he ain’t fit to fight his own way yet; 


east’s advice. 


251 


I’m trying to get him to it every day — but he’s very 
odd. Poor little beggar! I can’t make him out a 
bit. He ain’t a bit like anything I’ve ever seen or 
heard of — he seems all over nerves ; anything you 
say seems to hurt him like a cut or a blow.” 

“ That sort of boy’s no use here,” said East, “ he’ll 
only spoil. Now I’ll tell you what you do, Tommy. 
Go and get a nice large band-box made, and put him 
in with plenty of cotton-wool, and a pap-bottle, la- 
belled ‘With care — this side up,’ and send him back 
to mamma.” 

“ I think I shall make a hand of him though,” 
said Tom, smiling, “ say what you will. There’s 
something about him, every now and then, which 
shows me he’s got pluck somewhere in him. That’s 
the only thing after all that’ll wash, ain’t it, old 
Scud ? But how to get at it and bring it out ? ” 

Tom took one hand out of his breeches-pocket 
and stuck it in his back hair for a scratch, giving 
his hat a tilt over his nose, his one method of in- 
voking wisdom. He stared at the ground with a 
ludicrously puzzled look, and presently looked up 
and met East’s eyes. That young gentleman 
slapped him on the back, and then put his arm 
round his shoulder, as they strolled through the 
quadrangle together. “ Tom,” said he, “ blest if you 
ain’t the best old fellow ever was — I do like to see 
you go into a thing. Hang it, I wish I could take 
things as you do — but I never can get higher than 
a joke. Everything’s a joke. If I was going to be 
flogged next minute, I should be in a blue funk, but 
I couldn’t help laughing at it for the life of me.” 


252 


AN EPISODE. 


“ Brown and East, you go and fag for Jones on 
the great fives’-court.” 

“ Hullo, though, that’s past a joke,” broke out East, 
springing at the young gentleman who addressed 
them, and catching him by the collar. “ Here, Tom- 
my, catch hold of him t’other side before he can 
holla.” 

The youth was seized, and dragged struggling 
out of the quadrangle into the school-house hall. 
He was one of the miserable little pretty white- 
handed, curly-headed boys, petted and pampered by 
some of the big fellows, who wrote their verses for 
them, taught them to drink and use bad language, 
and did all they could to spoil them for everything* 
in this world and the next. One of the avoca- 
tions in which these young gentlemen took partic- 
ular delight, was in going about and getting fags 
for their protectors, when those heroes were playing 
any game. They carried about pencil and paper 
with them, putting down the names of all the boys 
they sent, always sending five times as many as 
were wanted, and getting all those thrashed who 
didn’t go. The present youth belonged to a house 
which was very jealous of the school-house, and 
always picked out school-house fags when he could 
find them. However, this time he’d got the wrong 
sow by the ear. His captors slammed the great 
door of the hall, and East put his back against it 

* A kind and wise critic, and old Rugboean, notes here in the mar- 
gin : The “small friend system was not so utterly bad from 1841- 
1847.” Before that, too, there were many noble friendships between 
big and little boys, but I can’t strike out the passage; many boys will 
know why it is left in. 


AN EPISODE. 


253 


while Tom gave the prisoner a shake up, took away 
his list, and stood him up on the floor, while he 
proceeded leisurely to examine that document. 

“Let me out, let me go!’” screamed the boy in a 
furious passion. “ Til go and tell Jones this minute, 

and he’ll give you both the thrashing you ever 

had.” 

“ Pretty little dear,” said East, patting the top 
of his hat ; “ hark how he swears, Tom. Nicely 
brought-up young man, ain’t he, I don’t think.” 

“ Let me alone, you ! ” roared the boy, foam- 

ing with rage and kicking at East, who quietly 
tripped him up, and deposited him on the floor in 
a place of safety. 

“ Gently, young fellow,” said he ; “ ’tain’t im- 
proving for little whippersnappers like you to be 
indulging in blasphemy ; so you stop that, or you’ll 
get something you won’t like.” 

“ I’ll have you both licked when I get out, that I 
will,” rejoined the boy, beginning to snivel. 

“ Two can play at that game, mind you,” said 
Tom, who had finished his examination of the list. 
“ Now you just listen here. We’ve just come across 
the fives’-court, and Jones has four fags there al- 
ready, two more than he wants. If he’d wanted 
us to change, he’d have stopped us himself. And 
here, you little blackguard, you’ve got seven names 
down on your list besides ours, and five of them 
school-house.” Tom walked up to him and jerked 
him on to his legs ; he was by this time whining 
like a whipped puppy. 

“ Now, just listen to me. ^We ain’t going to fag 


254 


AN EPISODE. 


for Jones. If you tell him you’ve sent us, we’ll each 
of us give you such a thrashing as you’ll remember.” 
And Tom tore up the list and threw the pieces into 
the fire. 

“ And mind you, too,” said East, “ don’t let me 
catch you again sneaking about the school-house, 
and picking up our fags. You haven’t got the sort 
of hide to take a sound licking kindly ; ” and he 
opened the door and sent the young gentleman 
flying into the quadrangle, with a parting kick. 

“ Nice boy, Tommy,” said East, shoving his hands 
in his pockets and strolling to the fire. 

“ Worst sort we breed,” responded Tom, follow- 
ing his example. “ Thank goodness, no big fellow 
ever took to petting me.” 

“ You’d never have been like that,” said East. 
“ I should like to have him put in a museum. 
Christian young gentleman, nineteenth century, 
highly educated. Stir him up with a long pole, 
Jack, and hear him swear like a drunken sailor. 
He'd make a respectable public open its eyes, I 
think.” 

“ Think he’ll tell Jones ? ” said Tom. 

“ No,” said East. “ Don’t care if he does.” 

“ Nor I,” said Tom. And they went back to talk 
about Arthur. 

The young gentleman had brains enough not to 
tell Jones, reasoning that East and Brown, who 
were noted as some of the toughest fags in the 
school, wouldn’t care three straws for any licking 
Jones might give them, and would be likely to keep 
their words as to passing it on with interest. 


AN EPISODE. 


255 


After the above conversation, East came a good 
deal to their study, and took notice of Arthur; and 
soon allowed to Tom that he was a thorough little 
gentleman, and would get over his shyness all in 
good time ; which much comforted our hero. He 
felt every day, too, the value of having an object in 
his life, something that drew him out of himself; 
and, it being the dull time of the year, and no games 
going about which he much cared, was happier than 
he had ever yet been at school, which was saying a 
great deal. 

The time which Tom allowed himself away from 
his charge, was from locking-up till supper-time. 
During this hour, or hour-and-a-half, he used to take 
his fling, going round to the studies of all his ac- 
quaintance, sparring or gossiping in the hall, now 
jumping the old iron-bound tables, or carving a bit of 
his name on them, then joining in some chorus of 
merry voices ; in fact, blowing off his steam, as we 
should now call it. 

This process was so congenial to his temper, and 
Arthur showed himself so pleased at the arrange- 
ment, that it was several weeks before Tom was 
ever in their study before supper. One evening, 
however, he rushed in to look for an old chisel, or 
some corks, or other article essential to his pursuit 
for the time being, and while rummaging about in 
the cupboards, looked up for a moment, and was 
caught at once by the figure of poor little Arthur. 
The boy was sitting with his elbows on the 
table, and his head leaning on his hands, and 
oefore him an open book, on which his tears were 


256 


LESSON NO. II. 


falling fast. Tom shut the door at once, and sat 
down on the sofa by Arthur, putting his arm round 
his neck. 

“ Why, young’un ! what’s the matter ? ” said he 
kindly ; “ you ain’t unhappy, are you ? ” 

“ Oh no, Brown,” said the little boy, looking up 
with the great tears in his eyes, “ you are so kind to 
me, I’m very happy.” 

“ Why don’t you call me Tom? lots of boys do 
that I don’t like half so much as you. What are 
you reading then ? Hang it, you must come about 
with me, and not mope yourself,” and Tom cast 
down his eyes on the book and saw it was the 
Bible. He was silent for a minute, and thought to 
himself, “ Lesson Number 2, Tom Brown,” and then 
said gently — 

“ I’m very glad to see this, Arthur, and ashamed 
that I don’t read the Bible more myself. Do you 
read it every night before supper while I’m out? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Well, I wish you’d wait till afterwards, and then 
we’d read together. But, Arthur, why does it make 
you cry ? ” 

“ Oh, it isn’t that I’m unhappy. But at home, 
while my father was alive, we always read the les- 
sons after tea ; and I love to read them over now, 
and try to remember what he said about them. 
I can’t remember all, and I think I scarcely under- 
stand a great deal of what I do remember. But 
it all comes back to me so fresh, that I can’t help 
crying sometimes to think I shall never read them 
again with him.” 


Arthur's home. 


257 


Arthur had never spoken of his home before, 
and Tom hadn’t encouraged him to do so, as his 
blundering school-boy reasoning made him think 
that Arthur would be softened and less manly for 
thinking of home. But now he was fairly interest- 
ed, and forgot all about chisels and bottled beer ; 
while with very little encouragement Arthur launch- 
ed into his home history, and the prayer-bell put 
them both out sadly when it rang to call them to 
the hall. 

From this time Arthur constantly spoke of his 
home, and above all, of his father, who had been 
dead about a year, and whose memory Tom soon 
got to love and reverence almost as much as his 
own son did. 

Arthur’s father had been the clergyman of a 
parish in the Midland counties, which had risen 
into a large town during the war, and upon which 
the hard years which followed had fallen with 
a fearful weight. The trade had been half ruined ; 
and then came the old sad story, of masters 
reducing their establishments, men turned off and 
wandering about, hungry and wan in body, and 
fierce in soul, from the thought of wives and 
children starving at home, and the last sticks of 
furniture going to the pawn-shop. Children taken 
from school, and lounging about the dirty streets 
and courts, too listless almost to play, and squalid 
in rags and misery. And then the fearful strug- 
gle between the employers and men ; lowerings 
of wages, strikes, and the long course of oft-re- 
peated crime, ending every now and then with a 

23 


258 


Arthur’s home. 


riot, a fire, and the county yeomanry. There is 
no need here to dwell upon such tales ; the 
Englishman into whose soul they have not sunk 
deep, is not worthy the name: you English boys 
for whom this book is meant (God bless your 
bright faces and kind hearts !) will learn it all soon 
enough. 

Into such a parish and state of society, Ar- 
thur’s father had been thrown at the age of 
twenty-five, a young married parson, full of faith, 
hope, and love. He had battled with it like a 
man, and had lots of fine Utopian ideas about 
the perfectibility of mankind, glorious humanity, 
and such like knocked out of his head ; and a 
real wholesome Christian love for the poor, strug- 
gling, sinning men, of whom he felt himself one, 
and with and for whom he spent fortune, and 
strength, and life, driven into his heart. He had 
battled like a man, and gotten a man’s reward. 
No silver teapots or salvers, with flowery inscrip- 
tions, setting forth his virtues and the appreciation 
of a genteel parish ; no fat living or stall, for which 
he never looked, and didn’t care ; no sighs and 
praises of comfortable dowagers and well got-up 
young women, who worked him slippers, sugared 
his tea, and adored him as ‘ a devoted man ; 
but a manly respect, wrung from the unwilling 
souls of men who fancied his order their natural 
enemies ; the fear and hatred of every one who was 
false or unjust in the district, were he master or 
man ; and the blessed sight of women and children 
daily becoming more human and more homely, 


authur’s home. 


259 


a comfort to themselves and to their husbands and 
fathers. 

These things of course took time, and had to be 
fought for with toil and sweat of brain and heart, 
and with the life-blood poured out. All that, 
Arthur had laid his account to give, and took 
as a matter of course ; neither pitying himself, 
or looking on himself as a martyr, when he felt 
the wear and tear making him feel old before 
his time, and the stifling air of fever dens tell- 
ing on his health. His wife seconded him in 
everything. She had been rather fond of society, 
and much admired and run after before her mar- 
riage ; and the London world to which she had 
belonged pitied poor Fanny Evelyn when she mar- 
ried the young clergyman, and went to settle in 
that smoky hole Turley, a very nest of chartism 
and atheism, in a part of the county which all 
the decent families had had to leave for years. 
4 However, somehow or other she didn’t seem to 
care. If her husband’s living had been amongst 
green fields and near pleasant neighbours, she 
would have liked it better, that she never pre- 
tended to deny. But there they were : the air 
wasn’t bad after all ; the people were very good 
sort of people, civil to you if you were civil to 
them. afte*r the first brush ; and they didn’t ex- 
pect to work miracles, and convert them all off- 
hand into model Christians.’ So he and she went 
quietly among the folk, talking to and treating 
them just as they would have done people of 
their own rank. They didn’t feel that they were 


260 


akthur’s home. 


doing any thing out of the common way, and so 
were perfectly natural, and had none of that 
condescension or consciousness of manner, which 
so outrages the independent poor. And thus they 
gradually won respect and confidence ; and after 
sixteen years he was looked up to by the whole 
neighbourhood as the just man, the man to whom 
masters and men could go in their strikes, and 
all in their quarrels and difficulties, and by whom 
the right and true word would be said without 
fear or favour. And the women had come round to 
take her advice, and go to her as a friend in all their 
troubles ; while the children all worshipped the very 
ground she trod on. 

They had three children, two daughters and a 
son, little George, who came between his sisters. 
He had been a very delicate boy from his childhood ; 
they thought he had a tendency to consumption, 
and so he had been kept at home and taught 
by his father, who had made a companion of him, 
and from whom he had gained good scholarship, 
and a knowledge of and interest in many subjects 
which boys in general never come across till they 
are many years older. 

Just as he reached his thirteenth year, and his 
father had settled that he was strong enough to go 
to school, and, after much debating with himself, 
had resolved to send him there, a desperate typhus- 
fever broke out in the town ; most of the other 
clergy, and almost all the doctors, ran away; the 
work fell with tenfold weight on those who stood to 
their work. Arthur and his wife both caught the 


Arthur’s home. 


261 


fever, of which he died in a few days, and she recov- 
ered, having been able to nurse him to the end, and 
store up his last words. He was sensible to the last, 
and calm and happy, leaving his wife and children 
with fearless trust for a few years in the hands of the 
Lord and Friend who had lived and died for him, 
and for whom he, to the best of his power, had lived 
and died. His widow’s mourning was deep and 
gentle ; she was more affected by the request of the 
Committee of a Freethinking club, established in the 
town by some of the factory hands (which he had 
striven against with might and main, and nearly 
suppressed), that some of their number might be 
allowed to help bear the coffin, than any thing else. 
Two of them were chosen, who, with six other 
labouring men, his own fellow-workmen and friends, 
bore him to the grave — a man who had fought the 
Lord’s fight, even unto the death. The shops were 
closed, and the factories shut that day in the parish, 
yet no master stopped the day’s wages ; but for 
many a year afterwards the townsfolk felt the want 
of that brave, hopeful, loving parson, and his wife, 
who had lived to teach them mutual forbearance and 
helpfulness, and had almost at last given them a 
glimpse of what this old world would be, if people 
would live for God and each other, instead of for 
themselves. 

What has all this to do with our story ? Well, 
my dear boys, let a fellow go on his own way, or 
you won’t get any thing out of him worth having. 
I must show you what sort of a man it was who had 
begotten and trained little Arthur, or else you won’t 
23 * 


262 


Arthur’s home. 


believe in him, which I am resolved you shall do; 
and you won’t see how he, the timid, weak boy, had 
points in him from which the bravest and strongest 
recoiled, and made his presence and example felt 
from the first on all sides, unconsciously to himself, 
and without the least attempt at proselytizing. The 
spirit of his father was in him, and the Friend to 
whom his father had left him did not neglect the trust. 
After supper that night, and almost nightly for 
years afterwards, Tom and Arthur, and by degrees 
East occasionally, and sometimes one, sometimes 
another, of their friends, read a chapter of the Bible 
together, and talked it over afterwards. Tom was 
at first utterly astonished, and almost shocked, an 
the sort of way in which Arthur read the book, and 
talked about the men and women whose lives were 
there told. The first night they happened to fall on 
the chapters about the famine in Egypt, and Arthur 
began talking about Joseph as if he were a living 
statesman ; just as he might have talked about Lord 
Grey and the Reform Bill; only that they were much 
more living realities to him. The book was to him, 
Tom saw, the most vivid and delightful history of 
real people, who might do right or wrong, just like 
any one who was walking about in Rugby — the 
Doctor, or the master, or the sixth-form boys. But 
the astonishment soon passed off', the scales seemed 
to drop from his eyes, and the book became at once 
and forever to him the great human and divine book, 
and the men and women, whom he had looked upon 
as something quite different from himself, became his 
friends and counsellors. 


RESULTS OF LESSON NO. II. 


263 


For our purposes, however, the history of one 
night’s reading will be sufficient, which must be told 
here, now we are on the subject, though it didn’t 
happen till a year afterwards, and long after the 
events recorded in the next chapter of our story. 

Arthur, Tom, and East were together one night, 
and read the story of Naaman coming to Elisha to be 
cured of his leprosy. When the chapter was finished, 
Tom shut his Bible with a slap. 

“ I can’t stand that fellow Naaman,” said he, 
“ after what he’d seen and felt, going back and bow- 
ing himself down in the house of Rimmon, because 
his effeminate scoundrel of a master did it. I won- 
der Elisha took the trouble to heal him. How he 
must have despised him.” 

“ Yes, there you go off as usual, with a shell on 
your head,” struck in East, who always took the 
opposite side to Tom ; half from love of argument, 
half from conviction. “ How do you know he didn’t 
think better of it? how do you know his master was 
a scoundrel? His letter don’t look like it, and the 
book don’t say so.” 

“ I don’t care,” rejoined Tom ; “ why did Naaman 
talk about bowing down, then, if he didn’t mean to do 
it ? He wasn’t likely to get more in earnest when he 
got back to court, and away from the prophet.” 

“ Well but, Tom,” said Arthur, “ look what Elisha 
says to him, c Go in peace.’ He wouldn’t have said 
that if Naaman had been in the wrong.” 

u I don’t see that that means, more than saying, 
You’re not the man I took you for.’ ” 

“ No, no, that won’t do at all,” said East ; u read 


264 


TOM IS STIFFNECKED. 


the words fairly, and take men as you find them. 1 
like Naaman, and think he was a very fine fellow.” 

“ I don’t,” said Tom positively. 

“ Well, I think East is right,” said Arthur ; “ I 
can’t see but what it’s right to do the best you can, 
though it mayn’t be the best absolutely. Every man 
isn’t born to be a martyr.” 

u Of course, of course,” said East ; “ but he’s on 
one of his pet hobbi.es. How often have I told you, 
Tom, that you must drive a nail where it’ll go.” 

“ And how often have I told you,” rejoined Tom, 
“ that it’ll always go where you want, if you only 
stick to it and hit hard enough. I hate half-measures 
and compromises.” 

“ Yes, he’s a whole-hog man, is Tom. Must have 
the whole animal, hair and teeth, claws and tail,” 
laughed East. “ Sooner have no bread any day, 
# than half the loaf.” 

“ I don’t know,” said Arthur, “ it’s rather puzzling ; 
but ain’t most right things got by proper compro- 
mises, I mean where the principle isn’t given up ? ” 

“ That’s just the point,” said Tom ; “ I don’t ob- 
ject to a compromise, where you don’t give up your 
principle.” 

w Not you,” said East laughingly. “ I know him 
of old. Arthur, and you’ll find him out some day. 
^ There isn’t such a reasonable fellow in the world, to 
hear him talk. He never wants any thing but what’s 
right and fair ; only when you come to settle what’s 
right and fair, it’s every thing that he wants, and 
nothing that you want. And that’s his idea of a 
compromise. Give me the Brown compromise when 
I’m on his side.” 


TOM PLEDGES HIMSELF. 


265 


“ Now, Harry,” said Tom, “ no more chaff — I’m 
serious. Look here — this is what makes my blood 
tingle ; ” and he turned over the pages of his Bible 
and read, “ Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego an- 
swered and said to the king, 1 O Nebuchadnezzar, 
we are not careful to answer thee in this matter. 
If it be so, our God whom we serve is able to 
deliver us from the burning fiery furnace, and He 
will deliver us out of thine hand, O king. But if 
not , be it known unto thee, O king, that we will not 
serve thy gods, nor worship the golden image which 
thou hast set up.’ ” He read the last verse twice, 
emphasizing the not’s, and dwelling on them as if 
they gave him actual pleasure, and were hard to part 
with. 

They were silent a minute, and then Arthur said, 
“ Yes, that’s a glorious story, but it don’t prove your 
point, Tom, I think. There are times when there is 
only one way, and that the highest, and then the men 
are found to stand in the breach.” 

“ There’s always a highest way, and it’s always 
the right one,” said Tom. “ How many times has 
the Doctor told us that in his sermons in the last 
year, I should like to know?” 

“ Well, you ain’t going to convince us, is he, Ar- 
thur? No Brown compromise to-night,” said East, 
looking at his watch. “ But it’s past eight, and wo 
must go to first lesson. What a bore.” 

So they took down their books and fell to work; 
but Arthur didn’t forget, and thought long and often 
over the conversation. 


CHAPTER III. 


ARTHUR MAKES A FRIEND. 

“ Let Nature be your teacher, 

Sweet is the lore which Nature brings; 

Our meddling intellect 

Mis-shapes the beauteous forms of things, 

We murder to dissect — 

Enough of Science and of Art; 

Close up those barren leaves, 

Come forth, and bring with you a heart 
That watches and receives.” — Wordsworth. 

Aboui six weeks after the beginning of the half, 
as Toni and Arthur were sitting one night before 
supper beginning their verses, Arthur suddenly stop- 
ped, and lpoked up, and said, “ Tom, do you know 
anything of Martin?’’ 

“ Yes,” said Tom, taking his hand out of his back 
hair, and delighted to throw his Gradus ad Parnas- 
sum on to the sofa; “I know him pretty well. 
He’s a very good fellow, but as mad as a hatter. 
He’s called Madman, you know. And never was 
such a fellow for getting all sorts of rum things 
about him. He tamed two snakes last half, and 
used to carry them about in his pocket, and I’ll be 
bound he’s got some hedgehogs and rats in his cup- 
board now, and no one knows what besides.” 

I should like very much to know him,” said Ar- 
thur ; “ he was next to me in the form to-day, and 


TROUBLES OE A BOY -PHILOSOPHER. 


267 


he’d lost his book and looked over mine, and he 
seemed so kind and gentle, that I liked him very 
much.” 

“ Ah, poor old madman, he’s always losing his 
books,” said Tom, “ and getting called up and 
floored because he hasn’t got them.” 

“ I like him all the better,” said Arthur. 

“ Well, he’s great fun, I can tell you,” said Tom, 
throwing himself back on the sofa and chuckling at 
the remembrance. “ We had such a game with 
him one day last half. He had been kicking up 
horrid stinks for some time in his study, till I sup- 
pose some fellow told Mary, and she told the Doc- 
tor. Any how, one day a little before dinner, when 
he came down from the library, the Doctor, instead 
of going home, came striding into the hall. East 
and I and five or six other fellows were at the Are, 
and preciously we stared, for he don’t come in like 
that once a year, unless it’s a wet day and there’s a 
fight in the hall. 4 East,’ says he, ‘just come and 
show me Martin’s study.’ ‘ Oh, here’s a game,’ 
whispered the rest of us, and we all cut up stairs 
after the Doctor, East leading. As we got into the 
New Row, which was hardly wide enough to hold 
the Doctor and his gown, click, click, click, we 
heard in the old madman’s den. Then that stopped 
all of a sudden, and the bolts went to like fun : the 
madman knew East’s step, and thought there was 
going to be a siege. 

“ ‘ It’s the Doctor, Martin. He’s here and wants to 
see you,’ sings out East. 

“ Then the bolts went back slowly, and the door 


2C>8 


TROUBLES OF A BOY-PHILOSOPHER. 


opened, and there was the old madman standing, 
looking precious scared ; his jacket off, his shirt- 
sleeves up to his elbows, and his long skinny arips 
all covered' with anchors and arrows and letters, tat- 
tooed in with gunpowder like a sailor-boy’s, and a 
stink fit to knock you down coming out. ’Twas all 
the Doctor could do to stand his ground, and East 
and [, who were looking in under his arms, held our 
noses tight. ‘ The old magpie was standing on the 
window-sill, all his feathers drooping, and looking 
disgusted and half-poisoned. 

“ 4 What can you be about, Martin ? ’ says the 
Doctor ; 4 you really mustn’t go on in this way — 
you’re a nuisance to the whole passage.’ 

u 4 Please, sir, I was only mixing up this powder, 
there isn’t any harm in it ; and the madman seized 
nervously on his pestle and mortar, to show the 
Doctor the harmlessness of his pursuits, and went 
off pounding : click, click, click ; he hadn’t given 
six clicks before, puff! up went the whole into a 
great blaze, away went the pestle and mortar across 
the study, and back we tumbled into the passage. 
The magpie fluttered down into the court, swearing, 
and the madman danced out, howling, with his fin- 
gers in his mouth. The Doctor caught hold of him, 
and called to us to fetch some water. 4 There, you 
silly fellow,’ said he, quite pleased though to find he 
wasn’t much hurt, 4 you see you don’t know the 
least what you are doing with all these things ; and 
now, mind, you must give up practising chemistry 
by yourself.’ Then he took hold of his arm and 
Jooked at it, and T saw he had to bite his lip, and 


TROUBLES OF A BOY-PHILOSOPHER. 


269 


his eyes twinkled; but he said, quite grave, ‘ Here, 
you see, you’ve been making all these foolish marks 
on f yourself, which you can never get out, and you’ll 
be very sorry for it in a year o* two : now come 
,down to the housekeeper’s room, and let us see if 
you are hurt.’ And away went the two, and we all 
staid and had a regular turn-out of the den, till 
Martin came back with his hand bandaged and 
turned us out. However, I’ll go and see what he’s 
after, and tell him to come in after prayers to sup- 
per.” And away went Tom to find the boy in 
question, who dwelt in a little study by himself, in 
New Row. 

The aforesaid Martin, whom Arthur had taken 
such a fancy for, was one of those unfortunates, 
who were at that time of day (and are, I fear, still) 
quite out of their places at a public-school. If we 
knew how to use our boys, Martin would have been 
seized upon and educated as a natural philosopher. 
He had a passion for birds, beasts, and insects, and 
knew more of them and their habits than any one 
in Rugby ; except, perhaps, the Doctor, who knew 
everything. He was also an experimental chemist 
on a small scale, and had made unto himself an 
electric machine, from which it was his greatest 
pleasure and glory to administer small shocks to 
any small boys who were rash enough to venture 
into his study. And this was by no means an 
adventure free from excitement ; for, besides the 
probability of a snake dropping on to your head or 
twining lovingly up your leg, or a rat getting into 
your breeches-pocket in search of food, there War- 
24 


270 


TROUBLES OF A BOY-PHILOSOPHER. 


the animal and chemical odour to be faced, which 
always hung about the den, and the chance of being 
blown up in some of the many experiments which 
Martin was always trying, with the most wondrous 
results in the shape of explosions and smells that 
mortal boy ever heard of. Of course, poor Martin, 
in consequence of his pursuits, had become an 
Ishmaelite in the house. In the first-place he half- 
poisoned all his neighbours, and they in turn were 
always on the look-out to pounce upon any of his 
numerous live stock, and drive him frantic by en- 
ticing his pet old magpie out of his window into 
a neighbouring study, and making the disreputable 
old bird drunk on toast soaked in beer and sugar. 
Then Martin, for his sins, inhabited a study looking 
into a small court some ten feet across, the window 
of which was completely commanded by those of 
the studies opposite in the sick-room row, these 
latter being at a slightly higher elevation. East, 
and another boy of an equally tormenting and 
ingenious turn of mind, now lived exactly opposite, 
and had expended huge pains and time in the prep- 
aration of instruments of annoyance for the behoof 
of Martin and his live colony. One morning an 
old basket made its appearance, suspended by a 
short cord outside Martin’s window, in which were 
deposited an amateur nest containing four young 
hungry jackdaws, the pride and glory of Martin’s 
life for the time being, and which he was currently 
asserted to have hatched upon his owil person. 
Early in the morning and late at night he was to 
be seen half out of window, administering to the 


TROUBLES OF A BOY PHILOSOPHER. 



varied wants of his callow brood. After deep cogi 
tation, East and his chum had spliced a knife on to 
the end of a fishing-rod ; and having watched 
Martin out, had, after half an hour’s severe sawing, 
cut the string by which the basket was suspended, 
and tumbled it on to the pavement below, with 
hideous remonstrance from the occupants. Poor 
Martin, returning from his short absence, collected 
the fragments and replaced his brood (except one 
whose neck had been broken in the descent) in their 
old location, suspending them this time by string 
and wire twisted together, defiant of any sharp 
instrument which his persecutors could command. 
But, like the Russian engineers at Sebastopol, East 
and his chum had an answer for every move of the 
adversary ; and the next day had mounted a gun in 
the shape of a pea-shooter upon the ledge of their 
window, trained so as to bear exactly upon the spot 
which Martin had to occupy while tending his nurse- 
lings. The moment he began to feed' they began 
to shoot ; in vain did the enemy himself invest in 
a pea-shooter, and endeavour to answer the fire 
while he fed the young birds with his other hand ; 
his attention was divided, and his shots flew wild, 
while every one of theirs told on his face and hands, 
and drove him into howlings and imprecations?. He 
had been driven to ensconce the nest in a corner of 
his already too wellrfilled dem 

H is door was barricaded by a set of ingenious 
bolts of his own invention, for the sieges were fre- 
quent by the neighbours when any unusually am- 
brosial odour spread itself from the den to the 


2?e 


THE PHTLOSOPHEK’s DEN. 


neighbouring studies.- The door panels were in a 
normal state of smash, but the frame of the door 
resisted all besiegers, and behind it the owner car- 
ried on his varied pursuits ; much in the same state 
of mind, I should fancy, as a border-farmer lived in, 
in the days of the old moss-troopers, when his hold 
might be summoned or his cattle carried off at any 
minute of night or day. 

“ Open, Martin, old boy — it’s only I, Tom Brown.” 

“ Oh, very well, stop a .moment.” One bolt went 
back. “ You’re sure East isn’t there ? ” 

“ No, no, hang it, open.” Tom gave a kick, the 
other bolt creaked, and he entered the den. 

Den indeed it was, about five feet six inches long 
by five wide, and seven feet high. About six tat- 
tered school-books, and a few chemical books, Tax- 
idermy, Stanley on Birds, and an odd volume of 
Bewick, the latter in much better preservation, 
occupied the top shelves. The other shelves, where 
they had not been cut away and used by the owner 
for other purposes, were fitted up for the abiding 
places of birds, beasts, and reptiles. There was no 
attempt at carpet or curtain. The table was en- 
tirely occupied by the great work of Martin, the 
electric machine, which was covered carefully with 
the remains of his table cloth. The jackdaw cage 
occupied one wall, and the other was adorned by a 
small hatchet, a pair of climbing irons, and his tin 
candle-box, in which he was for the time being 
endeavouring to raise a hopeful young family of 
field-mice. As nothing should be let to lie useless, 
it was well that the candle-box was thus occupied, 


THE INVITATION - . 


273 


for candles Martin never had. A pound was issued 
to him weekly as to the other boys, but as candles 
were available capital, and easily exchangeable for 
birds’-eggs or young birds, Martin’s pound invariably 
found its way in a few hours to Howlett’s, the bird- 
fancier’s, in the Bilton road, who would give a 
hawk’s or nightingale’s egg, or young linnet, in ex- 
change. Martin’s ingenuity was therefore forever on 
the rack to supply himself with a light ; just now he 
had hit upon a grand invention, and the den was 
lighted by a flaring cotton-wick issuing from a 
ginger-beer bottle full of some doleful composition. 
When light altogether failed him, Martin would 
loaf about by the fires in the passages or hall, after 
the manner of Diggs, and try to do his verses or 
learn his lines by the fire-light. 

“ Well, old boy, you haven’t got any sweeter in 
the den this half. How that stuff in the bottle 
stinks. Never mind, I ain’t going to stop, but you 
come up after prayers to our study ; you know young 
Arthur, we’ve got Gray’s study. We’ll have a good 
supper and talk about birds’-nesting.” 

Martin was evidently highly pleased at the invita- 
tion, and promised to be up without fail. 

As soon as prayers were over, and the sixth and 
fifth -form boys had withdrawn to the aristocratic 
seclusion of their own room, and the rest, or de- 
mocracy, had sat down to their supper in the hall ; 
Tom and Arthur, having secured their allowances 
of bread and cheese, started on their feet to catch 
the eye of the praepostor of the week, who remained 
in charge during supper, walking up and down the 
24 # 


274 


tom’s work. 


hall. He happened to be an easy-going fellow, so 
they got a pleasant nod to their “ Please may I go 
out ? ” and away they scrambled to prepare for 
Martin a sumptuous banquet. This, Tom had in- 
sisted on, for he was in great delight on the occasion ; 
the reason of which delight must be expounded. 
The fact was, that this was the first attempt at 
a friendship of his own which Arthur had made, 
and Tom hailed it as a grand step. The ease with 
which he himself became hail-fellow-well-met with 
anybody, and blundered into and out of twenty 
friendships a half-year, made him sometimes sorry 
and sometimes angry at Arthur’s reserve and lone- 
liness. True; Arthur was always pleasant, and 
even jolly, with any boys who came with Tom to 
their study ; but Tom felt that it was only through 
him, as it were, that his chum associated with 
others, and that but for him Arthur would have been 
dwelling in a wilderness. This increased his con- 
sciousness of responsibility ; and though he hadn’t 
reasoned it out and made it clear to himself, yet 
somehow he knew that this responsibility, this trust 
which he had taken on him without thinking about 
it, head-over-heels in fact, was the centre and turn- 
ing-point of his school-life, that which was to make 
him or mar him ; his appointed work and trial for 
the time being. And Tom was becoming a new 
boy, though with frequent tumbles in the dirt and per- 
petual hard battle with himself, and was daily grow- 
ing in manfulness, and thoughtfulness, as every high- 
couraged and well-principled boy must, when he finds 
himself for the first time consciously at grips with self 


TOM’S WORK. 


275 


and the devil. Already he could turn almost with- 
out a sigh from the school gates, from which had just- 
scampered off East and three or fou^^thers of his 
own particular set, bound for some^plly lark not 
quite according to law, and involving probably a row 
with louts, keepers, or farm-labourers, the skipping 
dinner or calling-over, some of Phoebe Jennings’s 
beer, and a very possible flogging at the end of all 
as a relish. He had quite got over the stage in 
which he would grumble to himself, “ Well, hang it, 
it’s very hard of the Doctor to have saddled me with 
Arthur. Why couldn’t he have chummed him with 
Fogey, or Thomkin, or any of the fellows who never 
do anything but walk round the close, and finish 
their copies the first day they’re set?” But although 
all this was past, he often longed, and felt that he 
was right in longing, for more time for the legiti- 
mate pastimes of cricket, fives, bathing, and fishing 
within bounds, in which Arthur could not yet be his 
companion ; and he felt that when the young’un 
(as he now generally called him) had found a pur- 
suit and some other friend for himself, he should be 
able to give more time to the education of his own 
body with a clear conscience. 

And now what he so wished for had come to 
pass ; he almost hailed it as a special providence, 
(as indeed it was, but not for the reasons he gave 
for it — what providences are?) that Arthur should 
have singled out Martin of all fellows for a friend. 
“ The old madman is the very fellow,” thought he ; 
“he will take him scrambling over half the country 
after birds’ eggs and flowers, make him run and 


276 


THE SUPPER. 


swim and climb like an Indian, and not teach him 
a word of any thing bad, or keep him from his les- 
sons. Whak luck ! ” And so, with more than his 
usual heartrBfes, he dived into his cupboard, and 
hauled out an old knuckle-bone of ham, and two or 
three bottles of beer, together with the solemn pew- 
ter only used on state occasions ; while Arthur, 
equally elated at the easy accomplishment of his 
first act of volition in the joint establishment, pro- 
duced from his side a bottle of pickles, and a pot of 
jam, and cleared the table. In a minute or two the 
noise of the boys coming up from supper was heard, 
and Martin knocked and was admitted, bearing his 
bread and cheese, and the three fell to with hearty 
good will upon the viands, talking faster than they 
eat, for all shyness disappeared in a moment before 
Tom’s bottled-beer and hospitable ways. “ Here’s 
Arthur, a regular young town-mouse, with a natural 
taste for the woods, Martin, longing to break his 
neck climbing trees, and with a passion for young 
snakes.” 

“ Well, I say,” sputtered out Martin eagerly, “ will 
you come ^to-morrow, both of you, to Caldecott’s 
Spinney then, for I know of a kestrel’s nest, up a fir 
tree — I can’t get at it without^ help ; and, Brown, 
you can climb against any one.” 

“ O yes, do let us go,” said Arthur ; “ I never saw 
a hawk’s nest or a hawk’s egg.” 

“ You juat come down to my study then, and I’ll 
show you five sorts,” said Martin. 

“ Ay, the old madman has got the best collection 
in the house, out-and-out,” said Tom ; and then 


THE SUPPER. 


277 


Martin, warming with unaccustomed good cheer 
and the chance of a convert, launched out into a 
proposed birds’-nesting campaign, betraying all man- 
ner of important secrets; a golden-crested wren’s 
nest near Butlin’s Mound, a moor-hen who was sit- 
ting on fourteen eggs in a pond down the Barby- 
road, and a kingfisher’s nest in a corner of the old 
canal above Brownsover Mill. He had heard, he 
said, that no one had ever got a kingfisher’s nest out 
perfect, and that the British Museum, or the Govern- 
ment, or somebody, had offered £100 to any one 
who could bring them a nest and eggs not damaged. 
In the middle of which astounding announcement, to 
which the others were listening with open ears, and 
already considering the application of the £100, a 
knock came to the door, and East’s voice was heard 
craving admittance. 

“There’s Harry,” said Tom, “ we’ll let him in — 
I’ll keep him steady, Martin. I thought the old boy 
would smell out the supper.” 

The fact was, that Tom’s heart had already smit- 
ten him for not asking his ‘ fidus Achates ’ to the 
feast, although only an extempore affair ; and though 
prudence and the desire to get Martin and Arthur 
together alone at first, had overcome his scruples, he 
was now heartily glad to open the door, broach 
another bottle of beer, and hand over the old ham- 
knuckle to the searching of his old friend’s pocket- 
knife. 

“ Ah, you greedy vagabonds,” said East, with his 
mouth full, “ I knew there was something going on 
when I saw you cut off out of the hall so quick with 


278 


THE SUPPER. 


your suppers. What a stunning tap, Tom l you are 
a wunner for bottling the swipes.” 

“ I’ve had practice enough for the sixth in my 
time, and it’s hard if I haven’t picked up a wrinkle or 
two for my own benefit.” 

“ Well, old madman, and how goes the birds’- 
ll esting campaign ? How’s Howlett ? I expect the 
young rooks’ll be out in another fortnight, and then 
my turn comes.” 

“ There ’ll be no young rooks fit for pies for a 
month yet ; shows how much you know about it,” 
rejoined Martin, who, though very good friends with 
East, regarded him with considerable suspicion for 
his propensity in practical jokes. 

“ Scud knows nothing and cares for nothing but 
grub and mischief,” said Tom; “but young rook 
pie, ’specially when you’ve had to climb for them, is 
very pretty eating. However, I say, Scud, we’re all 
going after a hawk’s nest to-morrow, in Caldecott’s 
Spinney, and if you’ll come and behave yourself, 
we’ll have a stunning climb.” 

“ And a bathe in Aganippe. Hooray ! I’m your 
man.” 

w No, no ; no bathing in Aganippe ; that’s where 
our betters go.” 

“ Well, well, never mind. I’m for the hawk’s nest 
and anything that turns up.” 

And the bottled-beer being finished, and his hunger 
appeased, East departed to his study, “ that sneak 
Jones,” as he informed them, who had just got into 
the sixth and occupied the next study, having insti- 
tuted a nightly visitation upon East and his chum; 
to their no small discomfort. 


YULGUSES. 


279 


When he was gone, Martin rose to follow, but 
Tom stopped him. u No one goes near New Row,” 
said he, “ so you may just as well stop here and do 
your verses, and then we’ll have some more talk. 
We’ll be no end quiet ; besides no praepostor comes 
here now — we haven’t been visited once this half.” 

So the table was cleared, .the cloth restored, and 
the three fell to work with Gradus and dictionary 
upon the morning’s vulgus. 

They were three very fair examples of the way in 
which such tasks were done at Rugby, in the consul- 
ship of Plancus. And doubtless the method is little 
changed^ for there is nothing new under the sun, 
especially at schools. 

Now be it known unto all you boys who are at 
schools which do not rejoice in the time-honoured 
institution of the Yulgus, (commonly supposed to 
have been established by William of Wykeham at 
Winchester, and imported to Rugby by Arnold, 
more for the sake of the lines which were learnt by 
heart with it, than for its own intrinsic value, as 
I’ve always understood,) that it is a short exercise, 
in Greek or Latin verse, on a given subject, the 
minimum number of lines being fixed for each form. 
The master of the form gave out at fourth lessou 
on the previous day the subject for next morning’s 
vulgus, and at first lesson each boy had to bring his 
vulgus ready to be looked over ; and with the vul- 
gus, a certain number of lines from one of the Latin 
or Greek poets, then being construed in the form, 
had to be got by heart. The master at first lesson 
called up each boy in the form in order, and put 


280 


VULGTJSES. 


him on in the lines. If he couldn’t say them, or 
seem to say them, by reading them off the master’s 
or some other boy’s book who stood near, he was 
sent back, and went below all the boys who did so 
say or seem to say them ; but in either case his 
vulgus was looked over by the master, who gave 
and entered in his book, to the credit or discredit of 
the boy, so many marks as the composition merited. 
At Rugby, vulgus and lines were the first lesson 
eveiy other day in the week, on Tuesdays, Thurs- 
days, and Saturdays ; and as there were thirty-eight 
weeks in the school year, it is obvious to the 
meanest capacity that the master of each form had 
to set one hundred and fourteen subjects every year, 
two hundred and twenty-eight every two years, and 
so on. Now to persons of moderate invention this 
was a considerable task, and human nature being 
prone to repeat itself, it will not be wondered that 
the masters gave the same subjects sometimes over 
again after a certain lapse of time. To meet and 
rebuke this bad habit of the masters, the school-boy 
mind, with its accustomed ingenuity, had invented 
an elaborate system of tradition. Almost every boy 
kept his own vulgus written out in a book, and 
these books were duly handed down from boy to 
boy, till (if the tradition has gone on till now) I 
'suppose the popular boys, in whose hands be- 
queathed vulgus-books have accumulated, are pre- 
pared with three or four vulguses on any subject 
in heaven or earth, or in “ more worlds than one,” 
which an unfortunate master can pitch upon. At 
any rate, such lucky fellows generally had one for 


VULGUSES. 


281 


themselves and one for a friend in my time. The 
only objection to the traditionary method of doing 
your vulgus was, the risk that the successions might 
have become confused, and so that you and another 
follower of tradition should show up the same iden- 
tical vulgus some fine morning, in which case, when 
it happened, considerable grief was the result — but 
when did such risks hinder boys or men from short 
cuts and pleasant paths ? 

Now in the study that night, Tom was the up- 
holder of the traditionary method of vulgus doing. 
He carefully produced two large vulgus-books, and 
began diving into them, and picking out a line here, 
and an ending there (tags as they were vulgarly 
called), till he had gotten all that he thought he 
could make fit. He then proceeded to patch his tags 
together with the help of his Gradus, producing an 
incongruous and feeble result of eight elegiac lines, 
the minimum quantity for his form, and finishing up 
with two highly moral lines extra, making ten in all, 
which he cribbed entire from one of his books, begin- 
ning “ O genus humanum,” and which he himself 
must have used a dozen times before, whenever an 
unfortunate or wicked hero, of whatever nation or 
language under the sun, was the subject. Indeed he 
began to have great doubts whether the master 
wouldn’t remember them, and so only threw them in 
as extra lines, because in any case they would call 
off attention from the other tags, and if detected, 
being extra lines, he wouldn’t be sent back to do two 
more in their place, while if they passed muster again 
he would get marks for them. 

25 


282 


THE SCIENCE OF "VERSE-MAKING. 


The second method, pursued by Martin, may be 
called the dogged, or prosaic method. He, no more 
than Tom, took any pleasure in the task, but having 
no old vulgus-books of his own or any one’s else, 
could not follow the traditionary method, for which, 
too, as Tom remarked, he hadn’t the genius. Mar- 
tin then proceeded to write down eight lines in 
English, of the most matter-of-fact kind, the first that 
(tame into his head; and to convert these, line by 
line, by main force of Gradus and dictionary, into 
Latin that would scan. This was all he cared for, to 
produce eight lines with no false quantities or con- 
cords : whether the words were apt, or what the sense 
was, mattered nothing; and, as the article was all 
new, not a line beyond the minimum did the follow- 
ers of the dogged method ever produce. 

The third, or artistic method, was Arthur’s. He 
considered first what point in the character or event 
which was the subject could most neatly be brought 
out within the limits of a vulgus, trying always to 
get his idea into the eight lines, but not binding 
himself to ten or even twelve lines if he couldn’t do 
this. He then set to work, as much as possible with- 
out Gradus or other help, to clothe his idea in appro- 
priate Latin or Greek, and would not be satisfied till 
he had polished it well up with the aptest and most 
poetic words and phrases he could get at. 

A fourth method indeed was in use in the school, 
but of too simple a kind to require description. 
It may be called the vicarious method, obtained 
amongst big boys of lazy or bullying habits, and con- 
sisted simply in making clever boys whom they could 


martin’s den. 


283 


thrash do their whole vulgus for them, and construe 
it to them afterwards ; which latter is a method not 
to be encouraged, and which I strongly advise you 
all not to practise. Of the others you will find the 
traditionary most troublesome, unless you can steal 
your vulguses whole (experto crede), and that the 
artistic method pays the best, both in marks and 
other ways. 

The vulguses being finished by nine o’clock, and 
Martin having rejoiced above measure in the abun- 
dance of light, and of Gradus and dictionary, and 
other conveniences almost unknown to him for get- 
ting through the work, and having been pressed by 
Arthur to come and do his verses there whenever 
he liked, the three boys went down to Martin’s den, 
and Arthur was initiated into the lore of birds’ eggs 
to his great delight. The exquisite colouring and 
forms astonished and charmed him who had scarcely 
ever seen any but a hen’s egg or an ostrich’s, and by 
the time he was lugged away to bed he had learned 
the names of at least twenty sorts, and dreamt of the 
glorious perils of tree-climbing, and that he had found 
a roc’s egg in the island as big as Sindbad’s, and 
clouded like a tit-lark’s, in blowing which Martin and 
he had nearly been drowned in the yolk. 


CHAPTER IV, 


THE BIRD-FANCIERS. 

tc I have found out a gift for my fair, 

I have found where the wood-pigeons breed j 
But let me the plunder forbear. 

She would say ’twas a barbarous deed.” 

Rowe. 

“ And now, my lad, take them five shilling, 

And on my advice in future think ; 

So Billy pouched them all so willing, 

And got, that night, disguised in drink.” 

MS. Ballad. 

The next morning at first lesson Tom was turned 
back in his lines, and so had to wait till the second 
round, while Martin and Arthur said theirs all right 
and got out of school at once. When Tom got 
out and ran down to breakfast at Harrowell’s they 
were missing, and Stumps informed him •that they 
had swallowed down their breakfasts and gone off 
together, where he couldn’t say. Tom hurried over 
his own breakfast, and went first to Martin’s study 
and then to his own, but no signs of the missing 
boys were to be found. He felt half angry and 
jealous of Martin — where could they be gone ? He 
learnt second lesson with East and the rest in no 
very good temper, and then went out into the 
quadrangle. About ten minutes before school Mar- 
tin and Arthur arrived in the quadrangle breathless ; 


TOM PUT OUT. 


285 


and, catching sight of him, Arthur rushed up all ex- 
citement, and with a bright glow on his face. 

“ Oh, Tom, look here,” cried he, holding out three 
moor-hen’s eggs ; “ we’ve been down the Barby-road 
to the pool Martin told us of last night, and just see 
what we’ve got.” 

Tom wouldn’t be pleased, and only looked out for 
something to find fault with. 

“ Why, young’un,” said he, “ what have you been 
after? You don’t mean to say you’ve been wad- 
ing ? ” 

The tone of reproach made poor little Arthur 
shrink up in a moment and look piteous, and Tom 
with a shrug of his shoulders turned his anger on 
Martin. 

“Well, I didn’t think, Madman, that you’d have 
been such a muff as to let him be getting wet 
through at this time of day. You might have done 
the wading yourself.” 

“ So I did, of course ; only he would come in too 
to see the nest. We left eleven eggs in ; they’ll be 
hatched in a day or two.” 

“Hang the eggs?” said Tom; “a fellow can’t 
turn his back for a moment but all his work’s un- 
done. He’ll be laid up for a week for this precious 
lark, I’ll be bound.” 

“ Indeed, Tom, now,” pleaded Arthur, “ my feet 
ain’t wet, for Martin made me take off my shoes and 
stockings and trousers.” 

“ But they are wet, and dirty too — can’t I see ? ” 
answered Tom ; “ and you’ll be called up and 
floored when the master sees what a state you’re in. 

25 * 


286 


BIRDS -NESTING. 


You haven’t looked at second lesson, you know.” 
Oh, Tom, you old humbug! you to be upbraiding 
any one with not learning their lessons. If you 
hadn’t been floored yourself now at first lesson, do 
you mean to say you wouldn’t have been with 
them ? and you’ve taken away all poor little Ar- 
thur’s joy and pride in his first birds’ eggs, and he 
goes and puts them down in the study, and takes 
down his books with a sigh, thinking he has done 
something horribly wrong, whereas he has learnt on 
in advance much more than will be done at second 
lesson. 

But the old madman hasn’t, and gets called up 
and makes some frightful shots, losing about ten 
places, and all but getting floored. This somewhat 
appeases Tom’s wrath, and by the end of the lesson 
he has regained his temper. And afterwards in 
their study he begins to get right again, as he 
watches Arthur’s intense joy at seeing Martin blow- 
ing the eggs and glueing them carefully on to bits 
of cardboard, and notes the anxious loving looks 
which the little fellow casts sidelong at him. And 
then he thinks, “ What an ill-tempered beast I am f 
Here’s just what I was wishing for last night come 
about, and I’m spoiling it all,” and in another five 
minutes has swallowed the last mouthful of his bile, 
and is repaid by seeing his little sensitive plant ex- 
pand again and sun itself in his smiles. 

After dinner the madman is busy with the prepa- 
- rations for their expedition, fitting new straps on to 
his climbing-irons, filling large pill-boxes with cot- 
ton-wool, and sharpening East’s small axe. They 


BIRDS’-NESTING. 


287 


carry all their munitions into calling-over, and directly 
afterwards, having dodged such praepostors as are on 
the look-out for fags at cricket, the four set off at a 
smart trot down the Lawford footpath, straight for 
Caldecott’s Spinney and the hawk’s nest. 

Martin leads the way in high feather ; it is quite 
a new sensation to him, getting companions, and he 
finds it very pleasant, and means to show them all 
manner of proofs of his science and skill. Brown 
and East may be better at cricket and football and 
games, thinks he, but out in the fields and woods 
see if I can’t teach them something. He has taken 
the leadership already, and strides away in front 
with his climbing-irons strapped under one arm, his 
pecking-bag under the other, and his pockets and 
hat full of pill-boxes, cotton-wool, and other etceteras. 
Each of the others carries a pecking-bag, and East 
his hatchet. 

When they had crossed three or four fields with- 
out a check, Arthur began to lag, and Tom seeing 
this shouted to Martin to pull up a bit: “We ain’t 
out Hare-and-hounds — what’s the good of grinding 
on at this rate ? ” 

“ There’s the spinney,” said Martin, pulling up on 
the brow of a slope at the bottom of which lay 
Lawford brook, and pointing to the top of the op- 
posite slope ; “ the nest is in one of those high fir 
trees at this end. And down by the brook there, I 
know of a sedge-bird’s nest ; we’ll go and look at it 
coming back.” 

“ Oh, come on, don’t let us stop,” said Arthur, who 
was getting excited at the sight of the wood ; so 


288 


BIRDS’- NESTING. 


they broke into a trot again, and were soon across 
the brook, up the slope, and into the spinney. Here 
they advanced as noiselessly as possible, lest keepers 
or other enemies should be about, and stopped at the 
foot of a tall fir, at the top of which Martin pointed 
out with pride the kestrel’s nest, the object of their 
quest. 

Oh where ! which is it ? ” asks Arthur, gaping 
up in the air, and having the most vague idea of 
what it would be like. 

“ There, don’t you see,” said East, pointing to a 
lump of mistletoe in the next tree, which was a 
beech : he saw that Martin and Tom were busy 
with the climbing-irons, and couldn’t resist the 
temptation of hoaxing. Arthur stared and won- 
dered more than ever. 

“ Well, how curious! it doesn’t look a bit like 
what I expected,” said he. 

“ Very odd birds, kestrels,” ^said East, looking 
waggishly at his victim, who is still star-gazing. 

“ But I thought it was in a fir tree?” objected 
Arthur. 

“ Ah, don’t you know ? that’s a new sort of fir 
which old Caldecott brought from the Himalayas.” 

“ Really ! ” said Arthur ; “ I’m glad I know that — 
how unlike our firs they are. They do very well too 
here, don’t they ? the spinney’s full of them.” 

“ What’s that humbug he’s telling you ? ” cried 
Tom looking up, having caught the word Hima- 
layas, and suspecting what East was after. 

“ Only about this fir,” said Arthur, putting his 
hand on the stem of the beech. 


bird’s-nesting. 


289 


u Fir ! ” shouted Tom, “ why you don’t mean to 
say, young ’un, you don’t know a beech when you 
see one ? ” 

Poor little Arthur looked terribly ashamed, and 
East exploded in laughter which made the wood 
ring. 

“ I’ve hardly ever seen any trees,” faltered Arthur. 

“ What a shame to hoax him, Scud,” cried Martin. 
“ Never mind, Arthur, you shall know more about 
trees than he does in a week or two.” 

“ And isn’t that the kestrel’s nest then ? ” asked 
Arthur. 

“.That! why that’s a piece of mistletoe. There’s 
the nest, that lump of small sticks up this fir.” 

“ Don’t believe him, Arthur,” struck in the incor- 
rigible East ; “ I just saw an old magpie go out 
of it.” 

Martin did not deign to reply to this sally, except 
by a grunt, as he buckled the last buckle of his 
climbing-irons; and Arthur looked reproachfully at 
East without speaking. 

But now came the tug of war. It was a very dif- 
ficult tree to climb until the branches were reached, 
the first of which was some fourteen feet up, for the 
trunk was too large at the bottom to be swarmed, 
in fact neither of the boys could reach more than 
half round it with their arms. Martin and Tom, 
both of whom had irons on, tried it without success 
at first ; the fir bark broke away where they stuck 
the irons in as soon as they leant any weight on 
their feet, and the grip of their arms wasn’t enough 
to keep them up; so after getting up three or four 


‘290 


bird’s-nesting. 


feet, down they came slithering to the ground, bark- 
ing their arms and faces. They were furious, and 
East sat by laughing and shouting at each failure, 
“ Two to one on the old magpie ! ” 

“We must try a pyramid,” said Tom at last. 
“ Now, Scud, you lazy rascal, stick yourself against 
the tree.” 

“ I dare say ! and have you standing on my shoul- 
ders with the irons on ; what do you think my skin’s 
made of?” However up he got and leant against 
the tree, putting his head down and clasping it with 
his arms as far as he could. “ Now then, Madman,” 
said Tom, “ you next.” 

“ No, I’m lighter than you, you go next.” So 
Tom got on East’s shoulders and grasped the tree 
above, and then Martin scrambled up on to Tom’s 
shoulders, amidst the totterings and groanings of 
the pyramid, and with a spring which sent his sup- 
porters howling to the ground, clasped the stem some 
ten feet up, and remained clinging. For a moment 
or two they thought he couldn’t get up, but then, 
holding on with arms and teeth, he worked first one 
iron then the other firmly into the bark, got another 
grip with his arms, and in another minute had hold 
of the lowest branch. 

“All up with the old magpie now,” said East; 
and after a moment’s rest, up went Martin, 
hand over hand, watched by Arthur with fearful 
eagerness. 

“ Isn’t it very dangerous ? ” said he. 

“ Not a bit,” answered Tom ; “ you can’t hurt 
if you only get good hand-hold. Try every branch 


bird’s-nesting. 


291 


with a good pull before you trust it, and then up 
you go.’’ 

Martin was now amongst the small branches 
close to the nest, and away dashed the old 
bird and soared up above the trees watching the 
intruder. 

“ All right — four eggs ! ” shouted he. 

“Take ’em all!” shouted East; “that’ll be one 
apiece.” 

“ No, no ! leave one, and then she won’t care,” 
said Tom. 

We boys had an idea that birds couldn’t count, 
and were quite content as long as you left one egg. 
I hope it is so. 

Martin carefully put one egg into each of his 
boxes and the third into his mouth, the only 
other place of safety, and came down like a lamp- 
lighter. All went well till he was within ten feet 
of the ground, when, as the trunk . enlarged, his 
hold got less and less firm, and at last down he 
came with a run, tumbling on to his back on the 
turf, spluttering and spitting out the remains of 
the great egg, which had broken by the jar of his 
fall. 

“Ugh, ugh! something to drink — ugh! it was 
addled,” spluttered he, while the wood rang again 
with the merry laughter of East and Tom. 

Then they examined the prizes, gathered up their 
things, and went off to the brook, where Martin 
swallowed huge draughts of water to get rid of the 
taste ; and they visited the sedge-bird’s nest, and 
from thence struck across the country in high glee, 


292 


PECKING. 


beating the hedges and brakes as they went along , 
and Arthur at last, to his intense delight, was 
allowed to climb a small hedge-row oak for a mag- 
pie’s nest, with Tom, who kept all round him like a 
mother, and showed him where to hold, and how to 
throw his weight; and though he was in a great 
fright didn’t show it, and was applauded by all for 
his lissomness. 

They crossed a road soon afterwards, and there 
close to them lay a heap of charming pebbles. 

“Look here,” shouted East, “here’s luck! I’ve 
been longing for some good honest pecking this half- 
hour. Let’s fill the bags, and have no more of this 
foozling bird’s-nesting.” 

No one objected, so each boy filled the fustian 
bag he carried full of stones : they crossed into 
: the next field, Tom and East taking one side of 
the hedges and the other two the other side. 
Noise enough they made certainly, but it was too 
early in the season for the young birds, and the old 
birds were too strong on the wing for our young 
marksmen, and flew out of shot after the first dis- 
charge. But it was great fun, rushing along the 
hedgerows and discharging stone after stone at 
blackbirds and chaffinches, though no result in the 
shape of slaughtered birds was obtained ; and Ar- 
thur soon entered into it, and rushed to head back 
the birds, and shouted, and threw, and tumbled into 
ditches and over and through hedges, as wildly as 
the Madman himself. 

Presently the party, in full cry after an old 
blackbird (who was evidently used to the thing 


WHAT IS LARCENY ? 


293 


and enjoyed the fun, for he would wait till they came 
close to him and then fly on for forty yards or so, and 
with an impudent flicker of his tail dart into the 
depths of the quickset), came beating down a high 
double hedge, two on each side. 

u There he is again,” “ head him,” “ let drive,” “ 1 
had him there,” “take care where you’re throwing, 
Madman,” the shouts might have been heard a 
quarter of a mile off. They were heard some two 
hundred yards off by a farmer and two of his shep- 
herds, who were doctoring sheep in a fold in the next 
field. 

Now the farmer in question rented a house and 
yard situate at the end of the field in which the 
young bird-fanciers had arrived, which house and 
yard he didn’t occupy or keep any one else in. 
Nevertheless, like a brainless and unreasoning Bri- 
ton, he persisted in maintaining on the premises a 
large stock of cocks, hens, and other poultry. Of 
course all sorts of depredators visited the place 
from time to time : foxes and gypsies wrought havoc 
in the night ; while in the day-time I regret to 
have to confess, that visits from the Rugby boys, 
and consequent disappearances of ancient and re- 
spectable fowls, were not unfrequent. Tom and 
East had during the period of their outlawry vis- 
ited the barn in question for felonious purposes 
and on one occasion had conquered and slain a 
duck there, and borne away the carcass trium- 
phantly, hidden in their handkerchiefs. However, 
they were sickened of the practice by the trouble 
and anxiety which the wretched duck’s body 
26 


294 


THE TROUBLESOME DUCK. 


caused them. They carried it to Sally Harrowell’s 
in hopes of a good supper, but she, after examin- 
ing it, made a long face and refused to dress or 
have any thing to do with it. Then they took it 
into their study and began plucking it themselves ; 
but what to do with the feathers, where to hide 
them ? 

“ Good gracious, Tom, what a lot of feathers a 
duck has,” groaned East, holding a bag full in his 
hands, and looking disconsolately at the carcass not 
yet half plucked. 

“ And I do think he’s getting high too, already,” 
said Tom, smelling at him cautiously, “ so we must 
finish him up soon.” 

“ Yes, all very well, but how are we to cook him ? 
I’m sure I ain’t going to try it on in the hall or pas- 
sages ; we can’t afford to be roasting ducks about, 
our character’s too bad.” 

“ I wish we were rid of the brute,” said Tom, 
throwing him on the table in disgust. And after a 
day or two more it became clear, that got rid of he 
must be ; so they packed him and sealed him up in 
brown paper, and put him in the cupboard of an un- 
occupied study, where he was found in the holidays 
by the matron, a grewsome body. 

They had never been duck-hunting there since, but 
others had, and the bold yeoman was very sore on the 
subject, and bent on making an example of the first 
boys he could catch. So he and his shepherds 
crouched behind the hurdles, and watched the party 
who were approaching all unconscious. 

Why should that old guinea-fowl be lying out in 


THE OLD GUINEA-HEN. 


295 


the hedge just at this particular moment of all the 
year? Who can say? Guinea-fowls always are — 
so are all other things, animals, and persons, requi- 
site for getting one into scrapes, always ready when 
any mischief can come of them. At any rate, just 
under East’s nose popped out the old guinea-hen, 
scuttling along and shrieking u come back, come 
back,” at the top of her voice. Either of the other 
three might perhaps have withstood the temptation, 
but East first lets drive the stone he has in his hand 
at her, and then rushes to turn her into the hedge 
again. He succeeds, and then they are all at it for 
dear life, up and down the hedge in full cry, the 
come back, come back” getting shriller and fainter 
every minute. 

Meantime the farmer and his men steal over the 
hurdles and creep down the hedge towards the 
scene of action. They are almost within a stone’s 
throw of Martin, who is pressing the unlucky chase 
hard, when Tom catches sight of them and sings 
out, “ Louts, ware louts, your side ! Madman, look 
ahead ! ” and then catching hold of Arthur, hurries 
him away across the field towards Rugby as hard 
as they can tear. Had he been by himself he would 
have stayed to see it out with the others, but now 
his heart sinks and all his pluck goes.. The idea of 
being led up to the Doctor with Arthur for bagging 
fowls, quite unmans and takes half the run out of 
him. 

However, no boys are more able to take care of 
themselves than East and Martin ; they dodge the 
pursuers, slip through a gap, and come pelting after 


296 


RUNNING FOR A CONYOY. 


Torn and Arthur, whom they catch up in no time * 
the farmer and his men are making good running 
about a field behind. Tom wishes to himself that 
they had made off in any other- direction, but now 
they are all in for it together, and must see it out. 
“ You won’t leave the young’un, will you ? ” says he, 
as they haul poor little Arthur, already losing wind 
from the fright, through the next hedge. “ Not we,” 
is the answer from both. The next hedge is a stiff 
one; the pursuers gain horribly on them, and they 
only just pull Arthur through with two great rents 
in his trousers, as the foremost shepherd comes up 
on the other side. As they start into the next field 
they are aware of two figures walking down the 
footpath in the middle of it, and recognize Holmes 
and Higgs taking a constitutional. Those good- 
natured fellows immediately shout w On.” “ Let’s 
go to them and surrender,” pants Tom. — Agreed. — 
And in another minute the four boys, to the great 
astonishment of those worthies, rush breathless up to 
Holmes and Higgs, who pull up to see what is the 
matter, and then the whole is explained by the ap- 
pearance of the farmer and his men, who unite their 
forces and bear down on the knot of boys. 

There is no time to explain, and Tom’s heart beats 
frightfully quick, as he ponders, “ Will they stand by 
us ? ” 

The farmer makes a rush at East and collars him ; 
and that young gentleman, with unusual discretion, 
instead of kicking his shins looks appealingly at 
Holmes, and stands still. 

“ Hullo there, not so fast,” says Holmes, who is 


A DEBATE. 


297 


bound to stand up for them till they are proved in 
the wrong M Now what’s all this about ? ” 

“ I’ve got the young varmint at last, have I,” pants 
the farmer ; “ why they’ve been a skulking about my 
yard and stealing my fowls, that’s where ’tis ; and 
if I doan’t have they flogged for it, every one on ’em, 
my name ain’t Thompson.” 

Holmes looks grave, and Diggs’s face falls. They 
are quite ready to fight, no boys in the school more 
so ; but they are praepostors, and understand their 
office, and can’t uphold unrighteous causes. 

“ I haven’t been near his old barn this half,” 
cries East. “ Nor I,” “ nor I,” chime in Tom and 
Martin. 

“ Now, Willum, didn’t you see ’em there last 
week ? ” 

“ Ees, I seen ’em sure enough,” says Willum, 
grasping a prong he carried, and preparing for 
action. 

The boys deny stoutly, and Willum is driven to 
admit that, “ if it worn’t they ’twas chaps as like ’em 
as two peas’n ; ” and “ leastways he’ll swear he see’d 
them two in the yard last Martinmas,” indicating 
East and Tom. 

Holmes has had time to meditate. “ Now, sir,” 
says he to Willum, “ you see you can’t remember 
what you have seen, and I believe the boys.” 

“ I doan’t care,” blusters the farmer ; “ they was 
arter my fowls to-day, that’s enough for I. Willum, 
you catch hold o’ t’other chap. They’ve been a 
sneaking about this two hours, I tells ’ee,” shouted 
he, as Holmes stands between Martin and Willum, 
26 * 


29Q 


A DEBATE. 


“ and have druv a matter of a dozen young pullets 
pretty nigh to death.” 

“ Oh; there’s a whacker! ” cried East; “ we haven’t 
been within a hundred yards of his barn ; we 
haven’t been up here above ten minutes, and we’ve 
seen nothing but a tough old guinea-hen, who ran 
like a greyhound.” 

“ Indeed that’s all true, Holmes, upon my honor,” 
added Tom ; “ we weren’t after his fowls ; guinea- 
hen ran out of the hedge under our feet, and we’ve 
seen nothing else.” 

“ Drat their talk. Thee catch hold o’ t’other, Wil- 
lum, and come along wi’ ’un.” 

“ Farmer Thompson,” said Holmes, warning off 
Willum and the prong with his stick, while Diggs 
faced the other shepherd, cracking his fingers like 
pistol shots, “ now listen to reason — the boys haven’t 
been after your fowls, that’s plain.” 

“ Tells ’ee I seed ’em. Who be you, I should like 
to know ? ” 

“ Never you mind, Farmer,” answered Holmes. 
“ And now I’ll just tell you what it is — you ought 
to be ashamed of yourself for leaving all that poul- 
try about with no one to watch it so near the 
school. You deserve to have it all stolen. So if 
you choose to come up to the Doctor with them, 
I shall go with you and tell him what I think 
of it.” 

The farmer began to take Holmes for a master ; 
besides, he wanted to get back to his flock. Cor- 
poral punishment was out of the question, the odds 
were too great ; so he began to hint at paying for 


TERMS. 


299 


the damage. Arthur jumped at this, offering to pay 
anything, and the farmer immediately valued the 
guinea-hen at half-a-sovereign. 

“ Half-a-sovereign ! ” cried East, now released from 
the farmer’s grip ; “ well, that is a good one ! the old 
hen ain’t hurt a bit, and she’s seven years old I 
know,* and as tough as whipcord; she couldn’t lay 
another egg to save her life.” 

It was at last settled that they should pay the 
farmer two shillings and his man one shilling, and 
so the matter ended, to the unspeakable relief of 
Tom, who hadn’t been able to say a word, being 
sick at heart at the idea of what the Doctor would 
think of him : and now the whole party of boys 
marched off down the footpath towards Rugby. 
Holmes, who was one of the best boys in the 
school, began to improve the occasion. “ Now, you 
youngsters,” said he, as he marched along in the 
middle of them, “ mind this, you’re very well out of 
this scrape. Don’t you go near Thompson’s barn 
again, do you hear ? ” 

Profuse promises from all, especially East. 

tt Mind I don’t ask questions,” went on Mentor, 
“ but I rather think some of you have been there 
oefore this after his chickens. Now knocking over 
other people’s chickens, and running off’ with them, 
is stealing. It’s a nasty word, but that’s the plain 
English of it. If the chickens were dead and lying 
in a shop you wouldn’t take them, I know that, any 
more than you would apples out of Griffith’s bas- 
ket; but there’s no real difference between chickens 
running about and apples on a tree, and the same 


300 HOLMES LECTURES ON SCHOOL LARCENY. 


articles in a shop. I wish our morals were sounder 
in such matters. There’s nothing so mischievous as 
these school distinctions, wfeich jumble up right and 
wrong, and justify things in us for which poor boys 
would be sent to pmon.” And good old Holmes 
delivered his soul on the walk home of many wise 
sayings, and as the song says — 

“ Gee’d ’em a sight of good advice,” 

which same sermon sank into them all more or 
less, and very penitent they Were for several hours. 
But truth compels me to admit that East at any 
rate forgot it all in a week, but remembered the 
insult which had been put upon him by Farmer 
Thompson, and with the Tadpole and other hair- 
brained youngsters, committed a raid upon the barn 
soon afterwards, in which they were caught, by the 
shepherds and severely handled, besides having to 
pay eight shillings, all the money they had in the 
world, to escape being taken up to the Doctor. 

Martin became a constant inmate in the joint 
study from this time, and Arthur took to him so 
kindly that Tom couldn’t resist slight fits of jeal- 
ousy, which, however, he managed to keep to him- 
self. The kestrel’s eggs . had not been broken, 
strange to say, and formed the nucleus of Arthur’s 
collection, at which Martin worked heart and soul ; 
and introduced Arthur to Howlett the bird-fancier, 
and instructed him in the rudiments of the art of 
stuffing. In token of his gratitude, Arthur allowed 
Martin to tattoo a small anchor on one of his wrists, 
which decoration, however, he carefully concealed 


ARTHUR SEALS HIS FRIENDSHIP. 


301 


from Tom. Before the end of the half-year he had 
trained into a bold climber and good runner, and, as 
Martin had foretold, knew twice as much about 
trees, birds, flowers, and many other things, as our 
good-hearted and facetious young friend Harry 
East. 


CHAPTER V. 


THE FIGHT. 

“ Surgebat Macnevisius 
Et mox jactabat ultro, 

Pugnabo tua gratia 

Feroci hoc Mactwoltro.” — Etonian. 

There is a certain sort of fellow, we who are 
used to studying boys all know him well enough, of 
whom you can predicate with almost positive cer- 
tainty, after he has been a month at school, that he 
is sure to have a fight, and with almost equal cer- 
tainty that he will have but one. Tom Brown was 
one of these; and as it is our well-weighed inten- 
tion to give a full, true, and correct account of 
Tom’s only single combat with a school-fellow in 
the manner of our old friend Bell’s Life, let those 
young persons whose stomachs are not strong, or 
who think a good set-to with the weapons which 
God has given us all, an uncivilized, unchristian, or 
ungentlemanly affair, just skip this chapter at once, 
for it won’t be to their taste. 

It was not at all usual in those days for two school- 
house boys to have a fight. Of course there were 
exceptions, when some cross-grained hard-headed 
fellow came up, who would never be happy unless 
he was quarrelling with his nearest neighbours, or 


FIGHTING IN GENERAL. 


303 


when there was some class-dispute, between the 
fifth-form and the fags for instance, which required 
blood-letting ; and a champion was picked out on 
each side tacitly, who settled the matter by a good 
hearty mill. But for the most part, the constant 
use of those surest keepers of the peace, the boxing 
gloves kept the school-house boys from fighting one 
another. Two or three nights in every week the 
gloves were brought out, either in the hall or fifth- 
form room ; and every boy who was ever likely to 
fight at all knew all his neighbour’s prowess perfectly 
well, and could tell to a .nicety what chance he would 
have in a stand-up fight with any other boy in the 
house. But of course no such experience could be 
gotten as regarded boys in other houses ; and as 
most of the other houses were more or less jealous of 
the school-house, collisions were frequent. 

After all, what would life be without fighting, I 
should like to know ? From the cradle to the grave, 
fighting, rightly understood, is the business, the real, 
highest, honestest business of every son of man. 
Every one who is worth his salt has his enemies, 
who must be beaten, be they evil thoughts and habits 
in himself, or spiritual wickedness in high places, or 
Russians, or Border-ruffians, or Bill, Tom, or Harry, 
who will not let him live his life in quiet till he has 
thrashed them. 

It is no good for Quakers, or any other body of 
men, to uplift their voices against fighting. Human 
nature is too strong for them, and they don’t follow 
their own precepts. Every soul of them is doing 
his own piece of fighting, somehow and somewhere. 


304 


FIGHTING IN GENERAL. 


The world might be a better world without fighting 
for any thing I know, but it wouldn’t be our world ; 
and therefore I am dead against crying peace when 
there is no peace, and isn’t meant to be. I’m as 
sorry as any man to see folk fighting the wrong 
people and the wrong things, but I’d a deal sooner 
see them doing that, than that they should have no 
fight in them. So, having recorded, and being about 
to record, my hero’s fights of all sorts, with all sorts 
of enemies, I shall now proceed to give an account 
of his passage-at-arms with the only one of his 
school-fellows whom he ever had to encounter in this 
manner. 

It was drawing towards the close of Arthur’s first 
half-year, and the May evenings were lengthening 
out. Locking-up was not till eight o’clock, and 
everybody was beginning to talk about what he 
would do in the holidays. The shell, in which form 
all our dramatis personce now are, were reading 
amongst other things the last book of Homer’s Iliad, 
and had worked through it as far as the speeches 
of the women over Hector’s body. It is a whole 
school-day, and four or five of the school-house boys 
(amongst whom are Arthur, Tom, and East) are 
preparing third lesson together. They have finished 
the regulation forty lines, and are, for the most part, 
getting very tired, notwithstanding the exquisite 
pathos of Helen’s lamentation. And now several 
long four-syllabled words come together, and the boy 
with the dictionary strikes work. 

“ I’m not going to look out any more words,” says 
he ; u we’ve done the quantity. Ten to one we 
shan’t get so far. Let’s go out into the close.” 


HOW THE FIGHT AROSE. 


305 


u Come along, boys,” cries East, always ready to 
leave the grind, as he called it ; “ our old coach is 
laid up you know, and we shall have one of the 
new masters, who’s sure to go slow and let us down 
easy.” 

So an adjournment to the close was carried nem. 
con ., little Arthur not daring to uplift his voice ; but^ 
being deeply interested in what they were reading, 
stayed quietly behind, and learnt on for his own 
pleasure. 

As East had said, the regular master of the form 
was unwell, and they were to be heard by one of 
the new masters, quite a young man, who had only 
just left the University. Certainly it would be hard 
lines, if, by dawdling as much as possible in coming 
in and taking their places, entering into long-winded 
explanations of what was the usual course of the 
regular master of the form, and others of the stock 
contrivances of boys for wasting time in school, 
they could not spin out the lesson so that he should 
not work them through more than the forty lines ; 
as to which quantity there was a perpetual fight 
going on between the master and his form, the 
latter insisting, an 3 enforcing by passive resistance, 
that it was the prescribed quantity of Homer for 
a shell lesson, the former that there was no fixed 
quantity, but that they must always be ready to go 
on to fifty or sixty lines if there were time within 
the hour. However, notwithstanding all their ef- 
forts, the new master got on horribly quick ; he 
seemed to have the bad taste to be really interested 
in the lesson, and to be trying to work them up into 
27 


306 


HOW THE FIGHT AROSE. 


something like appreciation of it, giving them good 
spirited English words, instead of the wretched 
bald stuff into which they rendered poor old Homer ; 
and construing over each piece himself to them 
after each boy, to show them how it should be 
done. 

Now the clock strikes the three-quarters ; there is 
only a quarter of an hour more ; but the forty lines 
are all but done. So the boys, one after another, 
who are called up, stick more and more, and make 
balder and even more bald work of it. The poor 
young master is pretty near beat by this time, and 
feels ready to knock his head against the wall, or 
his fingers against somebody else’s head. So he 
gives up altogether the lower and middle parts of 
the form, and looks round in despair at the boys on 
the top bench, to see if there is one out of whom he 
can strike a spark or two, and who will be too chiv- 
alrous to murder the most beautiful utterances of the 
most beautiful woman of the old world. His eye 
rests on Arthur, and he calls him up to finish con- 
struing Helen’s speech. Whereupon all the other 
boys draw long breaths, and begin to stare about 
and take it easy. They are all safe ; Arthur is the 
head of the form and sure to be able to construe, 
and that will tide on safely till the hour strikes. 

Arthur proceeds to read out the passage in Greek 
before construing it, as the custom is. Tom, who 
isn’t paying much attention, is suddenly caught by 
the falter in his voice as he reads the two lines — 

aXXa crv tov y enfacri 7nip:ii<fiup.€vos Karepvucs 
r uya'orfipoavvr] Kill rro Is ayavuis fTTtWcm'. 


HOW THE FIGHT AEOSE. 


307 


He looks up at Arthur, “ Why, bless us,” thinks he, 
what can be the matter with the young’un ? He’s 
never going to get floored. He’s sure to have learnt 
to the end.” Next moment he is reassured by the 
spirited tone in which Arthur begins construing, and 
betakes himself to drawing dog’s heads in his note- 
book, while the master, evidently enjoying the 
change, turns his back on the middle bench and 
stands before Arthur, beating a sort of time with 
his hand and foot, and saying, “ Yes, yes,” “ Very 
well,” as Arthur goes on. 

But as he nears the fatal two lines, Tom catches 
that falter again and looks up. He sees that there 
is something the matter, Arthur can hardly get on 
at all. What can it be ? 

Suddenly at this point Arthur breaks down alto- 
gether, and fairly bursts out crying, and dashes the 
cuff of his jacket across his eyes, blushing up to the 
roots of his hair, and feeling as if he should like to 
go down suddenly through the floor. The whole 
form are taken aback, most of them stare stupidly 
at him, while those who are gifted with presence of 
mind find their places and look steadily at their 
books, in hopes of not catching the master’s eye and 
getting called up in Arthur’s place. 

The master looks puzzled for a moment, and then 
seeing, as the fact is, that the boy is really affected 
to tears by the most touching thing in Homer, per- 
haps in all profane poetry put together, steps up to 
him and lays his hand kindly on his shoulder, say- 
ing, “ Never mind, my little man, you’ve construed 
very well. Stop a minute, there’s no hurry.” 


308 


HOW THE FIGHT AROSE. 


Now as luck would have it, there sat next above 
Tom on that day, in the middle bench of the form, 
a big boy, by name Williams, generally supposed 
to be the cock of the shell, therefore of all the school 
below the fifths. The small boys, who are great 
speculators on the prowess of their elders, used to 
hold forth to one another about Williams’s great 
strength, and to discuss whether East or Brown 
would take a licking from him. He was called Slog- 
ger Williams, from the force with which it was sup- 
posed he could hit. In the main, he was a rough 
goodnatured fellow enough, but very much alive to 
his own dignity. He reckoned himself the king of 
the form, and kept up his position with the strong 
hand, especially in the matter of forcing boys not to 
construe more than the legitimate forty lines. He 
had already*^runted and grumbled to himself, when 
Arthur went on reading beyond the forty lines. But 
now that he had broken down just in the middle of 
all the long words, the Slogger’s wrath was fairly 
roused. 

“ Sneaking little brute,” muttered he, regardless of 
prudence, “ clapping on the waterworks just in the 
hardest place ; see if I don’t punch his head after 
fourth lesson.” 

“ Whose ? ” said Tom, to whom the remark seem- 
ed to be addressed. 

“ Why, that little sneak Arthur’s,” replied Wil- 
liams. 

“ No you shan’t,” said Tom. 

“Hullo!” exclaimed Williams, looking at Tom 
with great surprise for a moment, and then giving 


HOW THE FIGHT AROSE. 


309 


him a sudden dig in the ribs with his elbow, which 
sent Tom’s books flying on to the floor, and called 
the attention of the master, who turned suddenly 
round, and seeing the state of things, said — 

“ Williams, go down three places, and then go 
on.” 

The Slogger found his legs very slowly, and pro- 
ceeded to go below Tom and two other boys with 
great disgust, and then turning round and facing the 
master, said, “ I haven’t learnt any more, sir ; our 
lesson is only forty lines.” 

“ Is that so ? ” said the master, appealing generally 
to the top bench. No answer. 

“Who is the head boy of the form?” said he, 
waxing wroth. 

“ Arthur, sir,” answered three or four boys, indicat- 
ing our friend. 

“ Oh, your name’s Arthur. Well now, what is the 
length of your regular lesson ? ” 

Arthur hesitated a moment, and then said, “We 
call it only forty lines, sir.” 

“ How do you mean, you call it ? ” 

“ Well, sir, Mr. Graham says we ain’t to stop there 
when there’s time to construe more.” 

“ I understand,” said the master. “ Williams, go 
down three more places, and write me out the lesson 
in Greek and English. And now, Arthur, finish con- 
struing.” 

“ Oh ! would I be in Arthur’s shoes after fourth 
lesson,” said the little boys to one another; but 
Arthur finished Helen's speech without any further 
catastrophe, and the clock struck four, which ended 
third lesson. 


27 * 


310 


THE CHALLENGE. 


Another hour was occupied in preparing and say- 
ing fourth lesson, during which Williams was bot- 
tling up his wrath ; and when five struck and the 
lessons for the day were over, he prepared to take 
summary vengeance on the innocent cause of his 
misfortune. 

Tom was detained in school a few minutes after 
the rest, and on coming out into the quadrangle, the 
first thing he saw was a small ring of boys, applaud- 
ing Williams, who was holding Arthur by the 
collar. 

“ There, you young sneak,” said he, giving Arthur 
a cuff on the head with his other hand, “ what made 
you say that — ” 

“ Hullo ! ” said Tom, shouldering into the crowd, 
“ you drop that, Williams ; you shan’t touch him.” 

“ Who’ll stop me ? ” said the Blogger, raising his 
hand again. 

“ I,” said Tom ; and suiting the action to the 
word, struck the arm which held Arthur’s collar so 
sharply, that the Slogger dropt it with a start, and 
turned the full current of his wrath on Tom. 

“ Will you fight ? ” 

“ Yes, of course.” 

“ Huzza, there’s going to be a fight between Slog- 
ger Williams and Tom Brown.” 

The news ran like wildfire about, and many boys 
who were on their way to tea at their several houses 
turned back, and sought the back of the chapel, 
where the fights come off. 

“Just run and tell East to come and back me,” 
said Tom to a small school-house boy, who was off 


THE CHALLENGE. 


311 


like a rocket to Harrowell’s, just stopping for a mo- 
ment to poke his head into the school-house hall, 
where the lower boys were already at tea, and sing 
out, “ Fight! Tom Brown and Slogger Williams.” 

Up start half the boys at once, leaving bread, 
eggs, butter, sprats, and all the rest, to take care of 
themselves. The greater part of the remainder fol- 
low in a minute, after swallowing their tea, carrying 
their food in their hands to consume as they go. 
Three or four only remain, who steal the butter of 
the more impetuous, and make to themselves an 
unctuous feast. 

In another minute East and Martin tear through 
the quadrangle, carrying a sponge, and arrive at the 
scene of action just as the combatants are beginning 
to strip. 

Tom felt he had got his work cut out for him, as 
he stripped off his jacket, waistcoat, and braces. 
East tied his handkerchief round his waist, and 
rolled up his shirt-sleeves for him : “ Now, old boy, 

don’t you open your mouth to say a word, or try to 
help yourself a bit, we’ll do all that; you keep all 
your breath and strength for the Slogger.” Martin, 
meanwhile, folded the clothes and put them under 
the chapel rails; and now Tom, with East to handle 
him and Martin to give him a knee, steps out on to 
the turf, and is ready for all that may come ; and 
here is the Slogger too, all stripped, and thirsting for 
the fray. 

It doesn’t look a fair match at first glance ; Wil- 
liams is nearly two inches taller, and probably a 
long year older than his opponent, and he is very 


312 


THE PEELING. 


strongly made about the arms and shoulders ; u peels 
well,” as the little knot of big filth-form boys, the 
amateurs, say, who stand outside the ring of little 
boys, looking complacently on, but taking no active 
part in the proceedings. But down below he is not 
so good by any means ; no spring from the loins, 
and feebleish, not to say shipwrecky, about the knees. 
Tom, on the contrary, though not half so strong in 
the arms, is good all over, straight, hard, and springy, 
from neck to ankle, better perhaps in his legs than 
anywhere. Besides, you can see by the clear white 
of his eye and fresh bright look of his skin, that he 
is in tip-top training, able to do all he knows ; 
while the Slogger looks rather sodden, as if he didn’t 
take much exercise and eat too much tuck. The 
timekeeper is chosen, a large ring made, and the 
two stand up opposite one another for a mo- 
ment, giving us time just to make our little observa- 
tions. 

u If Tom ’ll only condescend to fight with his 
head and heels,” as East mutters to Martin, “ we 
shall do.” 

But seemingly he won’t, for there he goes in, 
making play with both hands. Hard all, is the 
word ; the two stand to one another like men ; rally 
follows rally in quick succession, each fighting as if 
he thought to finish the whole thing out of hand. 
u Can’t last at this rate,” say the knowing ones, while 
the partisans of each make the air ring with their 
shouts and counter-shouts, of encouragement, ap- 
proval, and defiance. 

“ Take it easy, take it easy — keep away, let him 


EARLY ROUNDS. 


313 


come after you,” implores East, as he wipes Tom’s 
face after the first round with wet sponge, while he 
sits back on Martin’s knee, supported by the Mad- 
man’s long arms, which tremble a little from excite- 
ment. 

u Time’s up,” calls the timekeeper. 

u There he goes again, hang it all!” growls East, 
as his man is at it again .as hard as ever. A very 
severe round follows, in which Tom gets out-and-out 
the worst of it, and is at last hit clean off his legs, 
and deposited on the grass by a right-hander from 
the Slogger. 

Loud shouts rise from the boys of Slogger’s house, 
and the school-house are silent and vicious, ready to 
pick quarrels anywhere. 

“ Two to one in half-crowns on the big ’un,” says 
Rattle, one of the amateurs, a tall fellow, in thunder- 
and-lightning waistcoat, and puffy goodnatured face 

“ Done ! ” says Groove, another amateur of quieter 
look, taking out his note-book to enter it, for our 
friend Rattle sometimes forgets these little things. 

Meantime East is freshening up Tom with the 
sponges for next round, and has set two other boys 
to rub his hands. 

“ Tom, old boy,” whispers he, “ this may be fun 
for you, but it’s death to me. He’ll hit all the fight 
out of you in another five minutes, and then I shall 
go and drown myself in the island ditch. Feint 
him — use your legs ! draw him about ! he’ll lose his 
wind then in no time, and you can go into him. 
Hit at his body too, we’ll take care of his frontis- 
piece by-and-bye.” 


314 


HAND FIGHTING. 


Tom felt the wisdom of the counsel, and saw 
already that he couldn’t go in and finish the Slogger 
off at mere hammer and tongs, so changed his tactics 
completely in the third round. He now fights cau- 
tious, getting away from and parrying the Slogger’s 
lunging hits, instead of trying to counter, and leading 
his enemy a dance all round the ring after him. 
u He’s funking, go in Williams,” “ Catch him up,” 
“ Finish him off,” scream the small boys of the Slog- 
ger party. 

“Just what we want,” thinks East, chuckling to 
himself, as he sees Williams, excited by these shouts 
and thinking the game in his own hands, blowing 
himself in his exertions to get to close quarters again, 
while Tom is keeping away with perfect ease. 

They quarter over the ground again and again, 
Tom always on the defensive. 

The Slogger pulls up at last for a moment, fairly 
blown. 

“ Now then, Tom,” sings out East, dancing with 
delight. Tom goes in in a twinkling, and hits two 
heavy body blows, and gets away again before the 
Slogger can catch his wind ; which when he does he 
rushes with blind fury at Tom, and being skilfully 
parried and avoided, overreaches himself and falls on 
his face, amidst terrific cheers from the school-house 
boys. 

“ Double your two to one ? ” says Groove to Rat- 
tle, note-book in hand. 

“ Stop a bit,” says that hero, looking uncomfortably 
at Williams, who is puffing away on his second’s 
knee, winded enough, but little the worse in any 
other way. 


HEAD FIGHTING. 


315 


After another round the Slogger too seems to see 
that he can’t go in and win right off, and has met 
his match or thereabouts. So he too begins to use 
his head, and tries to make Tom lose patience, and 
come in before his time. And so the fight sways on, 
now one and now the other getting a trifling pull. 

Tom’s face begins to look very one-sided — there 
are little queer bumps on his forehead, and hi3 
mouth is bleeding ; but East keeps the wet sponges 
going so scientifically, that he comes up looking as 
fresh and bright as ever. Williams is only slightly 
marked in the face, but by the nervous movement 
of his elbows you can see that Tom’s body blows 
are telling. In fact half the vice of the Slogger’s 
hitting is neutralized, for he daren’t lunge out freely 
for fear of exposing his sides. It is too interesting 
by this time for much shouting, and the whole ring is 
very quiet. 

“ All right, Tommy,” whispers East ; “ hold on’s 
the horse that’s to win. We’ve got the last. Keep 
your head, old boy.” 

But where is Arthur all this time ? Words can- 
not paint the poor little fellow’s distress. He couldn’t 
muster courage to come up to the ring, but wan- 
dered up and down from the great fives’-court to the 
corner of the chapel rails. Now trying to make up 
his mind to throw himself between them, and try to 
stop them ; then thinking of running in and telling 
his friend Mary, who he knew would instantly re- 
port to the Doctor. The stories he had heard of 
men being killed in prize-fights rose up horribly be- 
fore him. 


316 


THE RING BROKEN. 


Once only, when the shouts of u Well done, 
Brown ! ” u Huzza for the school-house ! ” rose higher 
than ever, he ventured up to the ring, thinking the 
victory was won. Catching sight of Tom’s face in 
the state I have described, all fear of consequences 
vanishing out of his mind, he rushed straight off to 
the matron’s room, beseeching her to get the fight 
stopped, or he shall die. 

But it’s time for us to get back to the close. 
What is this fierce tumult and confusion ? the ring 
is broken, and high and angry words are being ban- 
died about ; “ It’s all fair,” “ It isn’t,” “ No hug- 
ging;” the fight is stopped. The combatants, how- 
ever, sit there quietly, tended by their seconds, while 
their adherents wrangle in the middle. East can’t 
help shouting challenges to two or three of the other 
side, though he never leaves Tom for a moment, and 
plies the sponges as fast as ever. 

The fact is, that at the end of the last round, 
Tom seeing a good opening had closed with his 
opponent, and after a moment’s struggle had thrown 
him heavily, by help of the fall he had learnt from 
his village rival in the Vale of White Horse. Wil- 
liams hadn’t the ghost of a chance with Tom at 
wrestling ; and the conviction broke at once on the 
Blogger faction, that if this were allowed their man 
must be licked. There was a strong feeling in the 
school against catching hold and throwing, though 
it was generally ruled all fair within certain limits ; 
so the ring was broken and the fight stopped. 

The school-house are overruled — the fight is on 
again, but there is to be no throwing; and East in 


THE BING BROKEN. 


317 


high wrath threatens to take his man away after 
next round, (which he don’t mean to do by the way,) 
when suddenly young Brooke comes through the 
small gate at the end of the chapel. The school- 
house faction rush to him. “ Oh, hurra ! now we 
shall get fair play.” 

w Please, Brooke, come up, they won’t let Tom 
Brown throw him.” 

“ Throw whom ? ” says Brooke, coming up to the 
ring. “ Oh ! Williams, I see. Nonsense ! of course 
he may throw him if he catches him fairly above the 
waist.” 

Now, young Brooke, you’re in the sixth, you know, 
and you ought to stop all fights. He looks hard at 
both boys. “ Any thing wrong ? ” says he to East, 
nodding at Tom. 

“ Not a bit.” 

“ Not beat at all 

“ Bless you, no ! heaps of fight in him. Ain’t 
there, Tom ? ” 

Tom looks at Brooke and grins. 

“ How’s he ? ” nodding at Williams. 

“ So, so ; rather done, I think, since his last fall. 
He won’t stand above two more.” 

“ Time’s up ! ” the boys rise again and face one 
another. Brooke can’t find it in his heart to stop 
them just yet, so the round goes on, the Slogger 
waiting for Tom, and reserving all his strength to 
hit him out should he come in for the wrestling dodge 
again, for he feels that that must be stopped, or his 
sponge will soon go up in the air. 

And now another new comer appears on the field, 
28 


318 


THE CRISIS. 


to wit, the under-porter, with his long brush and great 
woollen receptacle for dust under his arm. He has 
been sweeping out the schools. 

“You’d better stop, gentlemen,” he says; “the 
Doctor knows that Brown’s fighting — he’ll be out 
in a minute.” 

“ You go to Bath, Bill,” is all that that excellent 
servitor gets by his advice. And being a man of his 
hands, and a stanch upholder of the school-house, 
can’t help stopping to look on for a bit, and see Tom 
Brown, their pet craftsman, fight a round. 

It is grim earnest now, and no mistake. Both 
boys feel this, and summon every power of head, 
hand, and eye to their aid. A piece of luck on 
either side, a foot slipping, a blow getting well 
home, or another fall, may decide it. Tom works 
slowly round for an opening, he has all the legs, 
and can choose his own time ; the Slogger waits 
for the attack, and hopes to finish it by some 
heavy right-handed blow. As they quarter slowly 
over the ground, the evening sun comes out from 
behind a cloud and falls full on Williams’s face. 
Tom darts in, the heavy right-hand is delivered, 
but only grazes his head. A short rally at close 
quarters, and they close; in another moment the 
Slogger is thrown again heavily for the third time. 

“ I’ll give you three to two on the little one, in half 
crowns,” says Groove to Rattle. 

“ No thank’ee,” answers the other, diving his hands 
further into his coat-tails. 

Just at this stage of the proceedings the door of 
the turret which leads to the Doctor’s library sud- 


THE DOCTOR ARRIVES. 


319 


denly opens, and he steps into the close, and makes 
straight for the ring, in which Brown and the Slog- 
ger are both seated on their second’s knees for the 
last time. 

“The Doctor! the Doctor!” shouts some small 
boy who catches sight of him, and the ring melts 
away in a few seconds, the small boys tearing off, 
Tom collaring his jacket and waistcoat, and slipping 
through the little gate by the chapel, and round 
the corner to Harrowell’s, with his backers, as lively 
as need be. Williams, and his backers, making off 
not quite so fast across the close. Groove, Rattle, 
and the other bigger fellows trying to combine dig- 
nity and prudence in a comical manner, and walk- 
ing off fast enough, they hope, not to be recognized, 
and not fast enough to look like running away. 

Young Brooke alone remains on the ground by 
the time the Doctor gets there, and touches his hat, 
not without a slight inward qualm. 

“ Hah ! Brooke. I am surprised to see you here. 
Don’t you know that I expect the sixth to stop fight- 
ing ? ” 

Brooke felt much more uncomfortable than he had 
expected, but he was rathfer a favourite with the 
Doctor for his openness and plainness of speech ; so 
blurted out, as he walked by the Doctor’s side, who 
had already turned back — 

“ Yes, sir, generally. But I thought you wished 
us to exercise a discretion in the matter too — not to 
interfere too soon.” 

“ But they have been fighting this half-hour and 
more,” said the Doctor. 


320 


THE DOCTOR’S VIEWS. 


“ Yes, sir ; but neither was hurt. And they’re the 
sort of boys who’ll be all the better friends now, 
which they wouldn’t have been if they had been 
stopped any earlier — before it was so equal.” 

“ Who - was fighting with Brown ? ” said the Doc- 
tor. 

“ Williams, sir, of Thompson’s. He is bigger than 
Brown, and had the best of it at first, but not when 
you came up, sir. There’s a good deal of jealousy 
between our house and Thompson’s, and there 
would have been more fights if this hadn’t been 
let go on, or if either of them had had much the 
worst of it.” 

“ Well, but Brooke,” said the Doctor, “ doesn’t this 
look a little as if you exercised your discretion by 
only stopping a fight when the school-house boy is 
getting the worst of it ? ” 

Brooke, it must be confessed, felt rather gravelled. 

“ Now remember,” added the Doctor, as he stop- 
ped at the turret-door, “ this fight is not to go on — 
you’ll see to that. And I expect you to stop all 
fights in future at once.” 

“ Very well, sir,” said young Brooke, touching his 
hat, and not sorry to see the turret-door close behind 
the Doctor’s back. 

Meantime Tom, and the stanchest of his adhe- 
rents, had reached Harrowell’s, and Sally was bustling 
about to get them a late tea, while Stumps had been 
sent off to Tew, the butcher, to get a piece of raw 
beef for Tom’s eye, which was to be healed off- 
hand, so that he might show well in the morning. 
He was not a bit the worse except a slight diffi- 


EVENING AFTER THE FIGHT. 


321 


culty in his vision, a singing in his ears, and a 
sprained thumb, which he kept in a cold-water 
bandage, while he drank lots of tea, and listened 
to the Babel of voices talking and speculating of 
nothing but the fight, and how Williams would have 
given in after another fall (which he didn’t in the 
least believe), and how on earth the Doctor could 
have got to know of it, such bad luck ! He 
couldn’t help thinking to himself that he was glad 
he hadn’t won ; he liked it better as it was, and 
felt very friendly to the Slogger. And then poor 
little Arthur crept in and sat down quietly near 
him, and kept looking at him and the raw beef 
with such plaintive looks, that Tom at last burst 
out laughing. 

“ Don’t make such eyes, young ’un,” said he, 
“ there’s nothing the matter.” 

“ Oh but, Tom, are you much hurt? I can’t bear 
thinking it was all for me.” 

“ Not a bit of it, don’t flatter yourself. We were 
sure to have had it out sooner or later.” 

“ Well, but you won’t go on, will you? You’ll 
promise me you won’t go on ? ” 

“ Can’t tell about that — all depends on the houses. 
We’re in the hands of our countrymen, you know. 
Must fight for the school-house flag, if so be.” 

However, the lovers of the science were doomed 
to disappointment this time. Directly after lock- 
ing-up, one of the night fags knocked at Tom’s 
door. 

“ Brown, young Brooke wants you in the sixth- 
form room.” 


28 # 


322 


THEY SHAKE HANDS. 


Up went Tom to the summons, and found the 
magnates sitting at their supper. 

“ Well, Brown,” said young Brooke, nodding to 
him, “ how do you feel ? ” 

“ Oh, very well, thank you, only I’ve sprained my 
thumb, I think.” 

“ Sure to do that in a fight. Well, you hadn’t the 
worst of it, I could see. Where did you learn that 
throw ? ” 

“ Down in the country, when I was a boy.” 

“ Hullo ! why, what are you now? Well, never 
mind, you’re a plucky fellow. Sit down and have 
some supper.” 

“ Tom obeyed, by no means loth. And the fifth- 
form boy next him filled him a tumbler of bot- 
tled beer, and he eat and drank, listening to the 
pleasant talk, and wondering how soon he should 
be in the fifth, and one of that much envied 
society. 

As he got up to leave, Brooke said, “ You must 
shake hands to-morrow morning; I shall come and 
see that done after first lesson.” 

And so he did. And Tom and the Slogger shook 
hands with great satisfaction and mutual respect. 
And for the next year or two, whenever fights were 
being talked of, the small boys who had been present 
shook their heads, wisely, saying, “ Ah ! but you 
should just have seen the fight between Slogger 
Williams and Tom Brown!” 

And now, boys all, three words before we quit 
the subject. I have put in this chapter on fight- 
ing of malice prepense, partly because I want to 


THE OLD BOY’S RULES. 


323 


give yon a true picture of what every-day school life 
was in my time, and not a kid glove and go-to-meet- 
ing-coat picture ; and partly because of the cant and 
twaddle that’s talked of boxing and fighting with 
fists now-a-days. Even Thackeray has given in to 
it ; and only a few weeks ago there was some ram- 
pant stuff in the Times on the subject, in an article 
on field sports. 

Boys will quarrel, and when they quarrel will 
sometimes fight. Fighting with fists is the natu- 
ral and English way Tor English boys to settle 
their quarrels. What substitute for ft is there, 
or ever was there, amongst any nation under 
the sun ? What would you like to see take its 
place ? 

Learn to. box then, as you learn to play cricket 
and football. Not one of you will be the worse, 
but very much the better for learning to box 
well. Should you never have to use it in earn- 
est, there’s no exercise in the world so good for 
the temper, and for the muscles of the back and 

legs- 

As to fighting, keep out of it if you can, by 
all means. When the time comes, if it ever 
should, that you have to say “ Yes ” or “ No ” 
to a challenge to fight, say “ No ” if you can, 
• — only take care you make it clear to your- 
selves why you say “ No.” It’s a proof of the 
highest courage, if done from true Christian 
motives. It’s quite right and justifiable, if done 
from a simple aversion to physical pain and danger. 
But don’t say “ No ” because you fear a licking, and 


324 


THE OLD BOY’S KTJLES. 


say or think it’s because you fear God, for that’s 
neither Christian nor honest. And if you do fight, 
fight it out ; and don’t give in while you can stand 
and see. 


CHAPTER VI. 

FEVER IN THE SCHOOL. 

f. “ This our hope for all that’s mortal, 

* . ' And we too shall burst the bond; 

* v Death keeps watch beside the portal, 

But ’tis life that dwells beyond.” 

John Sterling. 

Two years have passed since the events recorded 
in the last chapter, and the end of the summer half- 
year is again drawing on. Martin has left and gone 
on a cruise in the South Pacific, in one of his 
uncle’s ships ; the old magpie, as disreputable as 
ever, his last bequest to Arthur, lives in the joint 
study. Arthur is nearly sixteen, and at the head of 
the twenty, having gone up the school at the rate of 
a form a half-year. East and Tom have been much 
more deliberate in their progress, and are only a 
little way up the fifth form. Great strapping boys 
they are, but still thorough boys, filling about the 
same place in the house that young Brooke filled 
when they were new boys, and much the same sort 
of fellows. Constant intercourse with Arthur has 
dune much for both of them, especially for Tom ; 
but much remains yet to be done, if they are to get 
all the good out of Rugby which is to be got there 
in those times. Arthur is still frail and delicate, with 


326 


THE DOCTOB. 


more spirit than body ; but thanks to his intimacy 
with them and Martin, has learned to swim, and run, 
and play cricket, and has never hurt himself by too 
much reading. 

One evening as they were all sitting down to sup- 
per in the fifth-form room, some one started a report 
that a fever had broken out at one of the boarding- 
houses ; “ they say,” he added, “ that Thompson is 
very ill, and that Dr. Robertson has been sent for 
from Northampton.” 

“ Then we shall all be sent home,” cried another. 
“ Hurrah ! five weeks’ extra holidays, and no fifth- 
form examination ! ” 

“ I hope not,” said Tom ; u there’ll be no Maryle- 
bone match then at the end of the half.” 

Some thought one thing, some another, many 
didn’t believe the report ; but the next day, Tuesday, 
Dr. Robertson arrived, and stayed all day, and had 
long conferences with the Doctor. 

On Wednesday morning, after prayers, the Doctor 
addressed the whole- school. There were several 
cases of fever in different houses, he said, but Dr. 
Robertson after the most careful examination had 
assured him that it was not infectious, and that if 
proper care were taken there could be no reason for 
stopping the school work at present. The examina- 
tions were just coming on, and it would be very 
unadvisable to break-up now. However, any boys 
who chose to do so were at liberty to write home, 
and, if their parents wished it, to leave at once. He 
should send the whole school home if the fever 
spread. 


DEATH IN THE SCHOOL. 


327 


The next day Arthur sickened, but there was no 
other case. Before the end of the week thirty or forty 
boys had gone, but the rest stayed on. There was a 
general wish to please the Doctor, and a feeling that 
it was cowardly to run away. 

On the Saturday Thompson died, in the bright 
afternoon, while the cricket-match was going on as 
usual on the big-side ground; the Doctor, coming 
from his death-bed, passed along the gravel-walk at 
the side of the close, but no one knew what had 
happened till the next day. At morning lecture it 
began to be rumoured, and by afternoon chapel was 
known generally ; and a feeling of seriousness and 
awe at the actual presence of death among them, 
came over the whole school. In all the long years 
of his ministry the Doctor perhaps never spoke 
words which sank deeper than some of those in 
that day’s sermon. “ When I came yesterday from 
visiting all but the very death-bed of him who has 
been taken from us, and looked around upon all the 
familiar objects and scenes within our own ground, 
where your common amusements were going on, 
with your common cheerfulness and activity, I felt 
there was nothing painful in witnessing that ; it did 
not seem in any way shocking or out of tune with 
those feelings which the sight of a dying Christian 
must be supposed to awaken. The unsuitableness 
in point of natural feeling between scenes of mourn- 
ing and scenes of liveliness did not at all present 
itself. But I did feel that if at that moment any of 
those faults had been brought before me which 
sometimes occur amongst us ; had I heard that any 


328 


DEATH IN THE SCHOOL. 


of you had been guilty of falsehood, or of drunken- 
ness, or of any other such sin ; had I heard from 
any quarter the language of profaneness, or of un- 
kindness, or of indecency ; had I heard or seen any 
signs of that wretched folly, which courts the laugh 
of fools by affecting not to dread evil and not to 
care for good, then the unsuitableness of any of 
these things with the scene I had just quitted would 
indeed have been most intensely painful. And 
why ? Not because such things would really have 
been worse than at any other time, but because at 
such a moment the eyes are opened really to know 
good and evil, because we then feel what it is so to 
live as that death becomes an infinite blessing, and 
what it is so to live also, that it were good for us if 
we had never been born.” 

Tom had gone into chapel in sickening anxiety 
about Arthur, but he came out cheered and strength- 
ened by those grand words, and walked up alone to 
their study. And when he sat down and looked 
round, and saw Arthur’s straw-hat and cricket-jacket 
hanging on their pegs, and marked all his little neat 
arrangements, not one of which had been disturbed, 
the tears indeed rolled down his cheeks, but they 
were calm and blessed tears, and he repeated to him- 
self, “ Yes, Geordie’s eyes are opened — he knows 
what it is so to live as that death becomes an infi- 
nite blessing. But do I ? Oh God, can I bear to 
lose him ? ” 

The week passed mournfully away. No more 
boys sickened, but Arthur was reported worse each 
day, and his mofher arrived early in the week. 


CONVALESCENCE. 


329 


Tom made many appeals to be allowed to see him, 
and several times tried to get up to the sick-room; 
but the housekeeper was always in the way, and at 
last spoke to the Doctor, who kindly, but peremptorily 
forbade him. 

Thompson was buried on the Tuesday, and the 
burial service, so soothing and grand always, but 
beyond all words solemn when read over a boy’s 
grave to his companions, brought him much com- 
fort, and many strange new thoughts and longings. 
He went back to his regular life, and played cricket 
and bathed as usual; it seemed to him that this 
was the right thing to do, and the new thoughts and 
longings became more brave and healthy for the 
effort. The crisis came on Saturday, the day week 
that Thompson had died ; and during that long 
afternoon Tom sat in his study reading his Bible, 
and going every half-hour to the housekeeper’s room, 
expecting each time to hear that the gentle and brave 
little spirit had gone home. But God had work for 
Arthur to do ; the crisis passed — on Sunday evening 
he was declared out of danger ; on Monday he sent 
a message to Tom that he was almost well, had 
changed his room, and was to be allowed to see him 
the next day. 

It was evening when the housekeeper summoned 
him to the sick-room. Arthur was lying on the sofa 
by the open window, through which the rays of the 
western sun stole gently, lighting up his white face 
and golden hair. Tom remembered a German 
picture of an angel which he knew ; often had he 
thought how transparent and golden and spirit-like 

29 


330 


CONVALESCENCE. 


it was; and he shuddered to think how like it 
Arthur looked, and felt a shock as if his blood had 
all stopped short, as he realized how near the other 
world his friend must have been to look like that. 
Never till that moment had he felt how his little 
chum had twined himself round his heart-strings; 
and as he stole gently across the room, and knelt 
down, and put his arm round Arthur’s head on the 
pillow, felt ashamed and half angry at his own red 
and brown face, and the. bounding sense of health 
and power which filled every fibre of his body, and 
made every moment of mere living a joy to him. 
He needn’t have troubled himself, it was this very 
strength and power so dilferent from his own which 
drew Arthur so to him. 

Arthur laid his thiu white hand, on which, the blue 
veins stood out so plainly, on Tom’s great brown 
fist, and smiled at him ; and then looked out of the 
window again, as if he couldn’t bear to lose a moment 
of the sunset, into the tops of the great feathery elms, 
round which the rooks were circling and clanging, re- 
turned in fiocks from their evening’s foraging parties. 
The elms rustled, the sparrows in the ivy just outside 
the window chirped and fluttered about, quarrelling 
and making it up again ; the rooks, young and old, 
talked in chorus, and the merry shouts of the boys, 
and the sweet click of the cricket-bats, came up 
cheerily from below. 

“ Dear George,” said Tom, “ I am so glad to be 
let up to see you at last. I’ve tried hard to come so 
often, but they wouldn’t let me before.” 

“ Oh, I know, Tom ; Mary has told me every day 


CONVALESCENCE. 


38i 


about you, and how she was obliged to make the 
Doctor sphak to you to keep you away. I’m very 
glad you didn’t get up, for you might have caught 
it, and you couldn’t stand being ill with all the 
matches going on. And you’re in the eleven, too, I 
hear — I’m so glad.” 

“ Yes, ain’t it jolly?” said Tom, proudly; “I’m 
ninth too. I made forty at the last pie-match, and 
caught three fellows out. So I was put in above 
Jones and Tucker. Tucker’s so savage, for he was 
head of the twenty-two.” 

“ Well, I think you ought to be higher yet,” said 
Arthur, who was as jealous for the renown of Tom 
in games, as Tom was for his as a scholar. 

“ Never mind, I don’t care about cricket or any 
thing now you’re getting well, Geordie ; and I 
shouldn’t have hurt, I know, if they’d have let me 
come up, — nothing hurts me. But you’ll get about 
now directly, won’t you ? Y r ou won’t believe how 
clean I’ve kept the study. All your things are just 
as you left them ; and I feed the old magpie just 
when you used, though I have to come in from big- 
side for him, the old rip. He won’t look pleased, all 
I can do, and sticks his head first on one side and 
then on the other, and blinks at me before he’ll 
begin to eat, till I’m half inclined to box his ears. 
And whenever East comes in, you should see him 
hop off to the window, dot and go one, though Harry 
wouldn’t touch a feather of him now.” 

Arthur laughed. “ Old Gravey has a good mem- 
ory, he can’t forget the sieges of poor Martin’s den 
in old times.” He paused a moment and then went 


332 


CONVALESCENCE. 


oil. “ You can’t think how often I’ve been thinking 
of old Martin since I’ve been ill ; I suppose one’s 
mind gets restless, and likes to wander off to strange 
unknown places. I wonder what queer new pets the 
old boy has got; how he must be revelling in the 
thousand new birds, beasts, and fishes.” 

Tom felt a pang of jealousy, but kicked it out in 
a moment. . “ Fancy him on a South-sea island, with 
the Cherokees or Patagonians, or some such wild 
niggers;” (Tom’s ethnology and geography were 
faulty, but sufficient for his needs ;) “ they’ll make 
the old Madman cock medicine-man, and tattoo him 
all over. Perhaps he’s cutting about now all blue, 
and has a squaw and a wigwam. He’ll improve 
their boomarangs, and be able to throw them too, 
without having old Thomas sent after him by the 
Doctor to take them away.” 

Arthur laughed at the remembrance of the boom- 
arang story, but then looked grave again, and said, 
“ He’ll convert all the Island, I know.” 

“ Yes, if he don’t blow it up first.” 

“ Do you remember, Tom, how you and East 
used to laugh at him and chaff him, because he said 
he was sure the rooks all had calling-over, or prayers, 
or something of the sort, when the locking-up bell 
rang. Well, I declare,” said Arthur, looking up seri- 
ously into Tom’s laughing* eyes, “ I do think he was 
right. Since I’ve been lying here I’ve watched them 
every night ; and do you know they really do come 
and perch all of them just about locking-up time : 
and then first there’s a regular chorus of caws, and 
then they stop a bit, and one old fellow, or perhaps 


MEMORIES. 


333 


• 

two or three in different trees, caw solos, and then off 
they all go again, flattering about and cawing any 
how till they roost.” 

“ I wonder if the old blackies do talk ? ” said Tom, 
looking up at them. “ How they must abuse me and 
East, and pray for the Doctor for stopping the sling- 
ing.” 

“ There ! look, look! ” cried Arthur, “ don’t you see 
the old fellow without a tail coming up ? Martin 
used to call him ‘ the clerk.’ He can’t steer himself. 
You never sa\y such fun as he is in a high wind, 
when he can’t steer himself home, and gets carried 
right past the trees, and has to bear up again and 
again before he can perch.” 

The locking-up bell began to toll, and the two 
boys were silent and listened to it. Th.e sound soon 
carried Tom off to the river and the woods, and he 
began to go over in his mind the many occasions on 
which he had heard that toll coming faintly down 
the breeze, and had to pack up his rod in a hurry and 
make a run for it, to get in before the gates were 
shut. He was roused with a start from his memories 
by Arthur’s voice, gentle and weak from his late 
illness. 

“ r JL**m, will you be angry if I talk to you very 
seriously r> ” 

“ No, dear old boy, not* I. But ain’t you faint, 
Arthur, or ill ? What can I get for you ? Don’t say 
anything to hurt yourself now, you are very weak ; 
let me come up again.” 

u No, no, I shan’t hurt myself ; I’d sooner speak to 
you now, if you don’t mind. I’ve asked Mary to 

29 * 


334 


MORE LESSONS. 


tell the Doctor that you are with me, so you needn’t 
go down to calling-over ; and I mayn’t have another 
chance, for I shall most likely have to go home for 
change of air to get well, and mayn’t come back this 
half.” 

“ Oh, do you think you must go away before the 
end of the half ? I’m so sorry. It’s more than five 
weeks yet to the holidays, and all the fifth-form ex- 
amination and half the cricket matches to come yet. 
And what shall I do all that time alone in our study ? 
Why, Arthur, it will be more than twelve weeks be- 
fore I see you again. Oh, hang it, I can’t stand that. 
Besides who's to keep me up to working at the ex- 
amination books ? I shall come out bottom of the 
form, as sure as eggs is eggs.” 

Tom was rattling on, half in joke, half in earnest, 
for he wanted to get Arthur out of his serious vein, 
thinking it would do him harm ; but Arthur broke 
in — 

“ Oh, please Tom, stop, or you’ll drive all 1 had to 
say out of my head. And I’m already horribly afraid 
I’m going to make you angry.” 

“Don’t gammon', young ’un,” rejoined Tom, (the 
use of the old name, dear to him from old recollec- 
tions, made Arthur start and smile, and feel quite 
happy;) “you know you ain’t afraid, and you’ve 
never made me angry since the first month we chum- 
med together. Now I’m going to be quite sober for 
a quarter of an hour, which is more than I am once 
in a year, so make the most of it ; heave ahead, and 
pitch into me right and left.” 

“Dear Tom, I ain’t going to pitch into you,” 


MOKE LESSONS. 


335 


said Arthur piteously; “and it seems so cocky in 
me to be advising you, who’ve been my backbone 
ever since I’ve been at Rugby, and have made the 
school a paradise to me. Ah, I see I shall never do 
it, unless I go head-over-heels at once, as you said 
when you taught me to swim. Tom, I want you 
to give up using vulgus-books and cribs.” 

Arthur sank back on to his pillow with a sigh, as 
if the effort had been great ; but the worst was now 
over, and he looked straight at Tom, who was evi- 
dently taken aback. He leant his elbows on his 
knees and stuck his hands into his hair, whistled a 
verse of Billy Taylor, and then was quite silent for 
another minute. Not a shade crossed his face, but 
he was clearly puzzled. At last he looked up and 
caught Arthur’s anxious look, took his hand, and 
said simply — 

“ Why, young’un ? ” 

“ Because you’re the honestest boy in Rugby, and 
that ain’t honest.” 

“ I don’t see that.” 

“ What were you sent to Rugby for ? ” 

“Well, I don’t know exactly — nobody ever told 
me. 1 suppose because all boys are sent to a public 
school in England.” 

“ But what do you think yourself? What do you 
want to do here and to carry away ? ” 

Tom thought a minute. “ I want to be A I at 
cricket and football, and all the other games, and to 
make my hands keep my head against any fellow, 
lout or gentleman. I want to get into the sixth 
before I leave, and to please the Doctor ; and I 


336 


tom’s confessions. 


want to carry away just as much Latin and Greek 
as will take me through Oxford respectably. There 
now, young ’un, I never thought of it before, but 
that’s pretty much about my figure. Ain’t it all 
on the square? What have you got to say to 
that?” 

“ Why, that you’re pretty sure to do all that you 
want then.” 

“ Well, I hope so. But you’ve forgot one thing, 
what I want to leave behind me. I want to leave 
behind me,” said Tom, speaking slow and looking 
much moved, “ the name of a fellow who never bul- 
lied a little boy, or turned his back on a big one.” 

Arthur pressed his hand, and after a moment’s 
silence went on : “ You say, Tom, you want to 

please the Doctor. Now do you want to please 
him by what he thinks you do, or by what you 
really do ?” 

“ By what I really do, of course.” 

“ Does he think you use cribs and vulgus-books ? ” 

Tom felt at once that his flank was turned, but he 
couldn’t give in. “ He was at Winchester himself,” 
said he, “ he knows all about it.” 

“ Yes, but does he think you use them? Do you 
think he approves of it ? ” 

“ You young villain,” said Tom, shaking his fist at 
Arthur half vexed and half pleased, “ I never think 
about it. Hang it — there, perhaps he don’t. Well, 
I suppose he don’t.” 

Arthur saw that he had got his point ; he knew 
his friend well, and was wise in silence as in speech. 
He only said, “ I would sooner have the Doctor’s 


TOM PROPOSETH A COMPROMISE. 33*7 

good opinion of me as I really am, than any man’s 
in the world.” 

After another minute Tom began again : “ Look 
here, young ’un, how on earth am I to get time to 
play the matches this half, if I give up cribs ? 
We’re in the middle of that long crabbed chorus in 
the Agamemnon, I can only just make head or tail 
of it with the crib. Then there’s Pericles’ speech 
coming on in Thucydides, and 4 the Birds ’ to get 
up for the examination, besides the Tacitus.” Tom 
groaned at the thought of his accumulated labours. 
44 I say young ’un, there’s only five weeks or so left 
to holidays, mayn’t I go on as usual for this half? 
I’ll tell the Doctor about it some day, or you may.” 

Arthur looked out of window; the twilight had 
come on and all was silent. He repeated in a low 
voice, 44 In this thing the Lord pardon thy servant, 
that when my master goeth into the house of Rim- 
mon to worship there, and he leaneth on my hand, 
and I bow down myself in the house of Rimmon ; 
when I bow down myself in the house of Rimmon, 
the Lord pardon thy servant in this thing.” 

Not a word more was said on the subject, and the 
boys were again silent. One of those blessed short 
silences, in which the resolves which colour a life are 
so often taken. 

Tom was the first to break it. 44 You’ve been very 
ill indeed, haven’t you, Geordie ? ” said he with a 
mixture of awe and curiosity, feeling as if his friend 
had been in some strange place or scene, of which 
he could form no idea, and full of the memory of his 
own thoughts during the last week. 


338 


TOM OUT-GENERALLED. 


“ Yes, very. I’m sure the Doctor thought I was 
going to die. He gave me the Sacrament last 
Sunday, and you can’t think what he is when one 
is ill. He said such brave, and tender, and gentle 
things to me, I felt quite light and strong after it, 
and never had any more fear. My mother brought 
our old medical man, who attended me when I was 
a poor sickly child; he said my constitution was 
quite changed, and that I’m fit for anything now. 
If it hadn’t, I couldn’t have stood three days of this 
illness. That’s all thanks to you, and the games 
you’ve made me fond of.” 

“ More thanks to old Martin,” said Tom ; “ he’s 
been your real friend.” 

“ Nonsense, Torn, he never could have done for 
me what you have.” 

“ Well, I don’t know, I did little enough. Did 
they tell you — you won’t mind hearing it now, I 
know — that poor Thompson died last week? The 
other three boys are getting quite round, like you.” 

“ Oh, yes, I heard of it.” 

Then Tom, who was quite full of it, told Arthur 
of the burial service in the chapel, and how it had 
impressed him, and, he believed, all the other boys. 
“ And though the Doctor never said a word about 
it,” said he, “ and it was a half-holiday and match 
day, there wasn’t a game played in the close all the 
afternoon, and the boys all went about as if it were 
Sunday.” 

“ I’m very glad of it,” said Arthur. “ But, Tom, 
]’ve had such strange thoughts about death lately. 
I’ve never told a soul of them, not even my mother. 


Arthur’s fever. 


339 


Sometimes I think they’re wrong, but, do you know, 
I don’t think in my heart I could be sorry at the 
death of any of my friends.” 

Tom was taken quite aback. 11 What in the 
world is the young ’un after now,” thought he; “ I’ve 
swallowed a good many of his crotchets, but this 
altogether beats me. He can’t be quite right in his 
head.” He didn’t want to say a word, and shifted 
about uneasily in the dark ; however, Arthur seemed 
to be waiting for an answer, so at last he said, “ I 
don’t think I quite see what you mean, Geordie. 
One’s told so often to think about death, that I’ve 
tried it on sometimes, especially this last week. But 
we won’t talk of it now. I'd better go — you’re 
getting tired, and I shall do you harm.” 

“ No, no, indeed I ain’t, Tom ; you must stop till 
nine, there’s only twenty minutes. I’ve settled you 
shall stop till nine. And oh ! do let me talk to you 
— I must talk to you. I see it’s just as I feared. 
You think I’m half mad — don’t you now ? ” 

“ Well, I did think it odd what you said, Geordie, 
as you ask me.” 

Arthur paused a moment, and then said quickly, 
“ I’ll tell you how it all happened. At first, when I 
was sent to the sick-room and found I had really 
got the fever, I was terribly frightened. I thought I 
should die, and I could not face it for a moment. I 
don’t think it was sheer cowardice at first, but I 
thought how hard it was to be taken away from my 
mother and sisters and you all, just as I was begin- 
ning to see my way to many things, and to feel 
that I might be a man and do a man’s work. To 


340 


Arthur’s feyer. 


die without having fought, and worked, and given 
one’s life away, was too hard to bear. I got. terribly 
impatient, and accused God of injustice, and strove 
to justify myself ; and the harder I strove the deeper 
I sank. Then the image of my dear father often 
came across me, but I turned from it. Whenever it 
came, a heavy numbing throb seemed to take hold 
of my heart, and say, dead — dead — dead. And I 
cried out, ‘ The living, the living shall praise Thee, 
O God ; the dead cannot praise Thee. There is no 
work in the grave ; in the night no man can work. 
But I can work. I can do great things. I will do 
great things. Why wilt thou slay me ? ’ And so I 
struggled and plunged, deeper and deeper, and went 
down into a living black tomb. I was alone there, 
with no power to stir or think ; alone with myself ; 
beyond the reach of all human fellowship ; beyond 
Christ’s reach, I thought, in my nightmare. You, 
who are brave and bright and strong, can have no 
idea of that agony. Pray to God you never may. 
Pray as for your life.” 

Arthur stopped — from exhaustion, Tom thought ; 
but what between his fear lest Arthur should hurt 
himself, his awe, and longing for him to go on, he 
couldn’t ask or stir to help him. 

Presently he went on, but quite calm and slow. 
11 1 don’t know how long I was in that state. For 
more than a day I know, for I was quite conscious, 
and lived my outer life all the time, and took my 
medicines, and spoke to my mother, and heard what 
they said. But I didn’t take much note of time, I 
thought time was over for me, and that that tomb 


Arthur’s fever. 


341 


was what was beyond. 'W ell, on last Sunday morn- 
ing, as I seemed to lie iir that tomb, alone, as 1 
thought, for ever and ever, the black dead wall was 
cleft in twr>, and I was caught up and borne through 
into the light by some great power, some living 
mighty spirit. Tom, do you remember the living 
creatures and the wheels in Ezekiel ? It was just 
like that ; ‘ when they went I heard the noise of their / 
wings, like + he noise of great waters, as the voice of ' 
the Almighty, the voice of speech, as the noise of an 
host; w’hen they stood they let down their wings’ — 

‘ and they went every one straight forward ; whither 
the spirit was to go they went, and they turned not 
when they went.’ And we rushed through the 
bright air, which was full of myriads of living crea- 
tures, and paused on the brink of a great river. And 
the power held me up, and I knew that that great 
river was the grave, and death dwelt there ; but not 
the death I had met in the black tomb, that I felt 
was gone forever. For on the other bank of the 
great river I saw men and women and children 
rising up pure and bright, and the tears were wiped 
from their eyes, and they put on glory and strength, 
and all weariness and pain fell away. And beyond 
were a multitude which no man could number, and 
they worked at some great work ; and they who 
rose from the river went on and joined in the work. 
They all worked, and each w T orked in a different 
way, but all at the same work. And I saw there 
my father, and the men in the old town whom I 
knew when I w T as a child ; many a hard stern man, 
who never came to church, and wdiom they called 
30 


342 


akthue’s feyer. 


atheist and infidel. There they were, side by side 
with my father, whom I had seen toil and die foi 
them, and women and little children, and the sea. 
was on the foreheads of all. And I longed to 
see what the work was, and could not ; so I tried 
to plunge in the river, for I thought I would join 
them, but I could not. Then I looked about to see 
how they got into the river. And this I could not 
see, but I saw myriads on this side, and they too 
worked, and I; knew thg^t it was the same work ; 
and the same seal bn their foreheads. And 
though I saw that there was toil and anguish in the 
work of these, and that most that were working 
were blind and feeble, yet I longed no more to 
plunge into the river, but more and more to know 
what the work was. And as I looked I saw my 
mother and my sisters, and I saw the Doctor, and 
you, Tom, and hundreds more whom I knew ; and 
at last I saw myself too, and I was toiling and 
doing ever so little a piece of the great work. Then 
it all melted away, and the power left me, and as it 
left me I thought I heard a voice say, ‘ The vision 
is for an appointed time ; though it tarry wait for 
it, *or in the end it shall speak and> not lie, it shall 
surely come, it shall not tarry.’ It was early morn- 
ing I. know then, it was so quiet and cool, and my 
mother was fast asleep in the chair by my bedside ; 
but it wasn’t only a dream of mine. I know it 
wasn’t a dream. Then I fell into a deep sleep, and 
only woke , after afternoon chapel ; and the Doctor 
came and gave me the Sacrament, as I told you. 
I told him and my mother I should get well — 1 


Arthur’s mother. 


343 


knew I should ; but I couldn’t tell them why. Tom,” 
said Arthur, gently, after another minute, “ do you 
see why I could not grieve now to see my dearest 
friend die ? It can’t be — it isn’t all fever or illness. 
God would never have let me see it so clear if it 
wasn’t true. I don’t understand it all yet — it will 
take me my life and longer to do that — to find out 
what the work is.” 

When Arthur stopped there was a long pause. 
Tom could not speak, he was almost afraid to 
breathe, lest he should break the train of Arthur’s 
thoughts. He longed to hear more, and to ask 
questiors. In another minute nine o’clock struck, 
and a gentle tap at the door called them both back 
into the world again. They did not answer, how- 
ever, for a moment, and so the door opened, and a 
lady came in carrying a candle. 

She went straight to the sofa, and took hold of 
Arthur’s hand, and then stooped down and kissed 
him. 

“ My dearest boy, you feel a little feverish again. 
Why didn’t you have lights ? You’ve talked too 
much and excited yourself in the dark.” 

“ Oh no, mother, you can’t think how well I feel. 
I shall start with you to-morrow for Devonshire. 
But, mother, here’s my friend, here’s Tom Brown — 
you know him ? ” 

“ Yes, indeed, I’ve known him for years,” she said, 
and held out her hand to Tom, who was now stand- 
ing up behind the sofa. This was Arthur’s mother. 
Tall and slight and fair, with masses of golden hair 
drawn back from the broad white forehead, and the 


344 


Arthur’s mother. 


calm blue eye meeting his so deep and open — the 
eye that he knew so well, for it was his friend’s over 
again, and the lovely tender month that trembled 
while he looked. She stood there a woman of 
thirty-eight, old enough to be his mother, and one 
whose face showed the lines which must be written 
on the faces of good men’s wives and widows — but 
he thought he had never seen anything so beautiful. 
He couldn’t help wondering if Arthur’s sisters were 
like her. 

Tom held her hand, and looked on straight in her 
face ; he could neither let it go nor speak. 

“ Now Tom,” said Arthur, laughing, “ where are 
your manners ? you’ll stare my mother out of coun- 
tenance.” Tom dropped the little hand with a 
sigh. “ There, sit down, both of you. Here, dearest 
mother, there’s room here,” and he made a place on 
the sofa for her. “ Tom, you needn’t go ; I’m sure 
you won’t be called up at first lesson.” Tom felt 
that he would risk being floored at every lesson for 
the rest of his natural school-life, sooner than go ; so 
sat down. “ And now,” said Arthur, “ I have real- 
ized one of the dearest wishes of my life — to see 
you two together.” 

And then he led away the talk to their home in 
Devonshire, and the red bright earth, and the deep 
green combes, and the peat streams like cairn-gorm 
pebbles, and the wild moor with its high cloudy 
Tors for a giant background to the picture — till 
Tom got jealous, and stood up for the clear chalk 
streams, and the emerald water meadows and great 

elms and willows of the dear old Royal county, as 

'' 


tom’s rewards. 


345 


he gloried to call it. And the mother sat on quiet 
and loving, rejoicing in their life. The quarter-to- 
te n struck, and the bell rang for bed, before they had 
well begun their talk as it seemed. 

Then Tom rose with a sigh to go. 

“ Shall I see you in the morning, Geordie ? ” said 
he, as he shook his friend’s hand. “ Never mind 
though, you’ll be back next half, and I shan’t forget 
the house of Rimmon.” 

Arlhur’s mother got up and walked with him to 
the door, and there gave him her hand again, and 
again his eyes met that deep loving look, which was 
like a spell upon him. Her voice trembled slightly 
as she said “ Good night — you are one who knows 
what our Father has promised to the friend of the 
widow and the fatherless. May He deal with you 
as you have dealt with me and mine ! ” 

Tom was quite upset ; he mumbled something 
about owing everything good in him to Geordie — 
looked in her face again, pressed her hand to his 
lips, and rushed down stairs to his study, where he 
sat till old Thomas came kicking at the door, to tell 
him his allowance would be stopped if he didn’t go 
off to bed. (It would have been stopped anyhow, 
but that he was a great favourite with the old 
gentleman, who loved to come out in the afternoons 
into the close to Tom’s wicket, and bowl slow 
twisters to him, and talk of the glories of by-gone 
Surrey heroes, with whom he had played in former 
generations.) So Tom roused himself and took up 
his candle to go to bed ; and then, for the first time 
was aware of a beautiful new fishing-rod, with old 
30 * 


346 


tom’s rewards. 


Eton’s mark on it, and a splendidly bound Bible, 
which lay on his table, on the titlepage of which 
was written — “ Tom Brown, from his affectionate 
and grateful friends, Frances Jane Arthur ; George 
Arthur.” 

I leave you all to guess how he slept, and what he 
dreamt of. 


CHAPTER VII. 


HARRY EAST’S DILEMMAS AND DELIVERANCES. 

** The Holy Supper is kept indeed, 

In whatso we share with another’s need — 

Not that which we give, but that we share. 

For the gift without the giver is bare : 

Who bestows himself with his alms feeds three, 

Himself, his hungering neighbour, and me.” 

Lowell — The Vision of Sir Launfal y p. 11. 

The next morning after breakfast, Tom, East, and 
Gower met as usual to learn their second lesson 
together. Tom had been considering how to break 
his proposal of giving up the crib to the others, and 
having found no better way (as indeed none better 
can ever be found by man or boy), told them simply 
what had happened ; how he had been to see Arthur, 
who had talked to him upon the'subject, and what 
he had said, and for his part he had made up his 
mind and wasn’t going to use cribs any more. And 
not being quite sure of his ground, took the high 
and pathetic tone, and was proceeding to say, “ how 
that having learnt his lessons with them for so many 
years, it would grieve him much to put an end to 
the arrangement, and he hoped at any rate that if 
they wouldn’t go on with him, they should still be 
just as good friends, and respect one another’s mo- 
tives — but — ” 


848 


TOM SPRINGS HIS MINE. 


Here the other boys, who had been listening with 
open eyes and ears, burst in — 

u Stuff and nonsense ! ” cried Gower. u Here, East, 
get down the crib and find the place .' 5 

“ Oh, Tommy, Tommy ! 55 said East, proceeding 
to do as he was bidden, “ that it should ever have 
come to this. I knew Arthur 5 d be the ruin of you 
some day, and you of me. And now the time’s 
come” — and he made a doleful face. 

“ I don’t know about ruin,” answered Tom ; “ I 
know that you and I would have had the sack long 
ago, if it hadn’t been for him. And you know it as 
well as I.” 

“ Well, we were in a baddish way before he came, 
I own, but this new crotchet of his is past a joke.” 

“ Let’s give it a trial, Harry ; come — you know 
how often he has been right and we wrong.” 

’ “ Now don’t you two be jawing away about young 

Square-toes,” struck in Gower. “ He’s no end of a 
sucking wiseacre, I dare say, but we’ve no time to 
lose, and I’ve got the fives’-court at half-past nine.” 

“ I say, Gower,” said Tom, appealingly, “ be a 
good fellow, and let’s try if we can’t get on without 
the crib.” 

“ What ! in this chorus ? Why we shan’t get 
through ten lines.” 

“ I say, Tom,” cried East, having hit on a new 
idea, “ don’t you remember, when we were in the 
upper-fourth, and old Momus caught me construing 
off rhe leaf of a crib which I’d torn out and put in 
my book, and which would float out on to the floor ; 
he sent me up to be flogged for it ? ” 


KESULTS OE THE EXPLOSION. 


349 


“ Yes, I remember it very well.” 

“ Well, the Doctor, after he’d flogged me, told me 
himself that he didn’t flog me for using a translation, 
but for taking it into lesson, and using it there when 
I hadn’t learnt a word before I came in. He said 
there was no harm in using a translation to get a clue 
to hard passages, if you’d tried all you could first to 
make them out without.” 

“ Did he though?” said Tom; “ then* Arthur 
must be wrong.” 

“ Of course he is,” said Gower, “ the little prig. 
We’ll only use the crib when we can’t construe 
without it. Go ahead, East.” 

And on this agreement they started. Tom satis- 
fied with having made his confession, and not sorry 
to have a locus pocnitentice , and not to be deprived 
altogether of the use of his old and faithful friend. 

The boys went on as usual, each taking a sen- 
tence in turn, and the crib being handed to the one 
whose turn it was to construe. Of course Tom 
couldn’t object to this, as, was it not simply lying 
there to be appealed to in case the sentence should 
prove too hard altogether for the construer ? But it 
must be owned that Gower and East did not make 
very tremendous exertions fo conquer their sen- 
tences before having recourse to its help. Tom, 
however, with the most heroic virtue and gallantry, 
rushed into his sentence, searching in a high-minded 
manner for nominative and verb, and turning over 
his dictionary frantically for the first hard word 
which stopped him. But in the meantime, Gower, 
who was bent on getting to fives, would peep quietly 


350 


RESULTS OF THE EXPLOSION. 


into the crib, and then suggest, “ Don’t you think 
this is the meaning?” “ I think you must take it 
this way, Brown ; ” and as Tom didn’t see his way 
to not profiting by these suggestions, the lesson went 
on about as quickly as usual, and Gower was able to 
start for the fives’ -court within five minutes of the 
half hour. 

When Tom and East were left fact? to face, they 
looked at one another for a minute, Tom puzzled, 
and East chock full of fun, and then burst into a roar 
of laughter. 

“ Well, Tom,” said East, recovering himself, “ I 
don’t see any objection to the new way. It’s about 
as good as the old one, I think ; besides, the advan- 
tage it gives one of feeling virtuous, and looking 
down on one’s neighbours.” 

Tom shoved his hand into his back hair. “ I ain’t 
so sure,” said he ; “ you two fellows carried me off 
my legs ; I don’t think we really tried one sentence 
fairly. Are you sure you remember what the Doctor 
said to you ? ” 

“ Yes. And I’ll swear I couldn’t make out one of 
my sentences to-day. No, nor never could. I really 
don’t remember,” said East, speaking slowly and im- 
pressively, “ to have come across one Latin or Greek 
sentence this half that 1 could go and construe by 
the light of nature. Whereby I am sure Providence 
intended cribs to be used.” 

“ The thing to find out,” said Tom, meditatively 
u is, how long one ought to grind at a sentence 
without looking at the crib. Now I think if one 
fairly looks out all the words one don’t know, and 
then can’t hit it, that’s enough.” 


THE ENEMY’S DEFENCE. 


251 


“ To be sure, Tommy,” said East, demurely, but 
with a merry twinkle in his eye. 11 Your new doc- 
trine too, old fellow,” added he, “ when one comes 
to think of it, is a cutting at the root of all school 
morality. You’ll take away mutual help, brotherly 
love, or in the vulgar tongue giving construes, which 
I hold to be one of our highest virtues. For how 
can you distinguish between getting a construe from 
another boy, and using a crib ? Hang it, Tom, if 
you’re going to deprive all our school-fellows of the 
chance of exercising Christian benevolence and being 
good Samaritans, I shall cut the concern.” 

“ I wish you wouldn’t joke about it, Harry ; it’s 
hard enough to see one’s way, a precious sight 
harder than I thought last night. But I suppose 
there’s a use and an abuse of both, and one’ll get 
straight enough somehow. But you can’t make 
out anyhow that one has a right to use old vulgus- 
books and copybooks.” 

“ Hullo, more heresy ! how fast a fellow goes 
down hill when he once gets his head before his 
legs. Listen to me, Tom. Not use old vulgus- 
books — why, you Goth ! ain’t we to take the bene- 
fit of the wisdom, and admire and use the work of 
l^ast generations ? Not use old copybooks ! Why 
you might* as well say we ought to pull down West- 
minster Abbey, and put up a go-to-meeting shop 
with churchwarden windows ; or never read Shak- 
speare, but only Sheridan Knowles. Think of all 
the work and labour that our predecessors have 
bestowed on these very books, and are we to make 
their work of no value ? ” 


352 


THE ENEMY'S DEFENCE. 


“ I say, Harry, please don’t chaff ; I’m really 
serious.” 

“ And then, is it not our duty to consult the 
pleasure of others rather than our own, and above 
all that of our masters ? Fancy then the difference 
to them in looking over a vulgus which has been 
carefully touched and retouched by themselves and 
others, and which must bring them a sort of dreamy* 
pleasure, as if they’d met the thought or expression 
of it somewhere or another — before they were born 
perhaps ; and that of cutting up, and making pic- 
ture-frames round all your and my false quantities, 
and other monstrosities. Why, Tom, you wouldn’t be 
so cruel as never to let old Momus hum over the ‘ O 
genus humanum ’ again, and then look up doubting- 
ly through his spectacles, and end by smiling and 
giving three extra marks for it ; just for old sake’s 
sake, I suppose.” 

“ Well,” said Tom, getting up in something as 
like a huff as he was capable of, “ it’s deuced hard 
that when a fellow’s really trying to do what he 
ought, his best friends ’ll do nothing but chaff him 
and try to put him down.” And he stuck his 
books under his arm and his hat on his head, 
preparatory to rushing out into the quadrangle, to 
testify with his own soul of the faithlessness of 
friendships. 

“ Now don’t be an ass, Tom,” said East, catch- 
ing hold of him, “ you know me well enough by 
this time ; my bark’s worse than my bite. You 
can’t expect to ride your new crotchet without any- 
body’s trying to stick a nettle under his tail and 


THE ENEMY’S DEFENCE. 


353 


make him kick you off: especially as we shall all 
have to go on foot still. But now sit down and 
let’s go over it again. I’ll be as serious as a 
judge.” 

Then Tom sat himself down on the table, and 
waxed eloquent about all the righteousnesses and 
advantages of the new plan, as was his wont when- 
ever he took up any thing ; going into it as if his life 
depended upon it, and sparing no abuse which he 
could think of of the opposite method, which he de- 
nounced as ungentlemanly, cowardly, mean, lying, 
and no one knows what besides. “ Very cool of 
Tom,” as East thought, but didn’t say, “ seeing as 
how he only came out of Eygpt himself last night at 
bed-time.” 

“•Well, Tom,” said he at last, “ you see when you 
and I came to school there were none of these 
sort of notions. You may be right — I dare say 
you are. Only what one has always felt about 
the masters is, that it’s a fair trial of skill and last 
between us and them — like a match at football, 
or a battle. We’re natural enemies in school, that’s 
the fact. We’ve got to learn so much Latin and 
Greek and do so many verses, and they’ve got to 
see that we do it. If we can slip the collar and 
do so much less without getting caught, that’s 
one to us. If they can get more out of us, oi 
catch us shirking, that’s one to them. All’s fair 
in war, but lying. If I run my luck against theirs 
and go into school without looking at my lesson, 
and don’t get called up, why am I a snob or a 
sneak ? I don’t tell the master I have learnt it 

31 


354 


THE ENEMY’S DEFENCE. 


He’s got to find out whether I have or not : what’s 
he paid for ? If he calls me up and I get floored, 
he makes me write it out in Greek and English. 
Very good, he’s caught me, and I don’t grumble. 
I grant y v ou, if I go and snivel to him, and tell 
him I’ve really tried to learn it but found it so 
hard without a translation, or say I’ve had a 
toothache or any humbug of that kind, I’m a 
snob. That’s my school morality ; it’s served me, 
and you too, Tom, for the matter of that, these 
five years. And it’s all clear and fair, no mistake 
about it. We understand it and they understand 
it, and I don’t know what we’re to come to with 
any other.” 

Tom looked at him, pleased, and a little puz- 
zled. He had never heard East speak his mind 
seriously before, and couldn’t help feeling how com- 
pletely he had hit his own theory and practice up to 
that time. 

“ Thank you, old fellow,” said he. “ You’re a 
good old brick to be serious, and not put out 
with me. I said more than I meant, I dare say, 
only you see I know I’m right : whatever you 
and Gower and the rest do, I shall hold on — 
I must. And as it’s all new and an up-hill 
game, you see, one must hit hard and hold on tight 
at first.” 

“ Very good,” said East; “ hold on and hit away 
only don’t hit under the line.” ' 

“ But I must bring you over, Harry, or I shan’t 
be comfortable. Now I allow all you’ve said. 
We’ve always been honorable enemies with the 


THE TEE CE. 


355 


masters. We found a state of war when we came, 
and went into it of course. Only don’t you think 
things are altered a good deal? I don’t feel as I 
used to the masters. They seem to me to treat one 
quite differently.” 

“ Yes, perhaps they do,” said East; “there’s a 
new set you see mostly, who don’t feel quite sure of 
themselves yet. They don’t want to fight till they 
know the ground.” 

“ I don’t think it’s only that,” said Tom. “And 
then the Doctor, he does treat one so openly, 
and like a gentleman, and as if one was working 
with him.” 

“ Well, so he does,” said East; “he’s a splendid 
fellow, and when I get into the sixth I shall act ac- 
cordingly. Only you know he has nothing to do 
with our lessons now, except examining us. I say 
though,” looking at his watch, “ it’s just the quarter. 
Come along.” 

As they walked out they got a message to say, 
‘ that Arthur was just starting and would like to say 
good-bye ; ’ so they went down to the private entrance 
of the school-house, and found an open carriage, with 
Arthur propped up with pillows in it, looking already 
better, Tom thought. . 

They jumped up on to the steps to shake hands 
with him, and Tom mumbled thanks for the pres- 
ents he had found in his study, and looked round 
anxiously for Arthur’s mother. 

East, who had fallen back into his usual humour, 
looked quaintly at Arthur and said — 

“ So you’ve been at it again, through that hot- 


356 


ARTHUR GOES HOME. 


headed convert of yours there. He’s been making 
our lives a burthen to us all the morning about using 
cribs. I shall get floored to a certainty at second 
lesson, if I’m called up.” 

Arthur blushed and looked down. Tom struck 
in — ‘ 

“ Oh, it’s all right. He’s converted already ; he 
always comes through the mud after us, grumbling 
and sputtering.” 

The clock struck and they had to go off to school, 
wishing Arthur a pleasant holiday ; Tom lingering 
behind a moment to send his thanks and love to 
Arthur’s mother. 

Tom renewed the discussion after second lesson, 
and succeeded so far as to get East to promise to 
give the new plan a fair trial. 

Encouraged by his success, in the evening, when 
they were sitting alone in the large study, where 
East lived now almost, { vice Arthur on leave,’ after 
examining the new fishing-rod, which both pro- 
nounced to be the genuine article, (‘ play enough to 
throw a midge tied on a single hair against the 
wind, and strength enough to hold a grampus,’) 
they naturally began talking about Arthur. Tom, 
who was still bubbling over \yith last night’s scene 
and all the thoughts of the last week, and wanting 
to clinch and fix the whole in his own mind, which 
he eould never do without first going through the 
process of belabouring somebody else with it all, 
suddenly rushed into the subject of Arthur’s illness, 
and what he had said about death. 

East had given him the desired opening, after a 


THE SIEGE RE-OPENS. 


357 


s^rio-comic grumble, 4 that life wasn’t worth having 
now they were tied to a young beggar who was 
always “ raising his standard ; ” and that he, East, 
was like a prophet’s donkey, who was obliged to 
struggle on after the donkey-man who went after the 
prophet ; that he had none of the pleasure of start- 
ing the new crotchets, and didn’t half understand 
them, but had to take the kicks and carry the lug- 
gage as if he had all the fun,’ he threw his legs up 
on to the sofa, and put his hands behind his head, 
and said — 

44 Well, after all, he’s the most wonderful little fel- 
low I ever came across. There ain’t such a meek, 
humble boy in the school. Hanged if I don’t think 
now really, Tom, that he believes himself a much 
worse fellow than you or I, and that he don’t think 
he has more influence in the house than Dot Bowles, 
who came last quarter, and ain’t ten yet. But he 
turns you and me round his little finger, old boy — 
there’s no mistake about that.” And East nodded 
at Tom sagaciously. 

“Now or never,” thought Tom; so shutting his 
eyes and hardening his heart, he went straight at it, 
repeating all that Arthur had said, as near as he 
could remember it, in the very words, and all he 
had himself thought. The life seemed to ooze out 
of it as he went on, and several times he felt in- 
clined to stop, give it all up, and change the subject. 
But somehow he was borne on ; he had a necessity 
upon him to speak it all out, and did so. At the 
end he looked at East with some anxiety, and was 
delighted to see that that young gentleman was 


358 FRIENDSHIP TESTED. 

thoughtful and attentive. The fact is, that in the 
stage of his inner life at which Tom had lately 
arrived, his intimacy with, and friendship for East, 
could not have lasted if he had not made him aware 
of, and a sharer in, the thoughts that were begin- 
ning to exercise him. Nor indeed could the friend- 
ship have lasted if East had shown no sympathy 
with these thoughts ; so that it was a great relief to 
have unbosomed himself, and to have found that his 
friend could listen. 

Tom had always had a sort of instinct that East’s 
levity was only skin-deep, and this instinct was a 
true one. East had no want of reverence for any- 
thing he felt to be real: but his was one of those 
natures that burst into what is generally called reck- 
lessness and impiety the moment they feel that any- 
thing is being poured upon them for their good, 
which does not come home to their inborn sense of 
right, or which appeals to anything like self-interest 
in them. Daring and honest by nature, and out- 
spoken to an extent which alarmed all respectabili- 
ties, with a constant fund of animal health and 
spirits which he did* not feel bound to curb in any 
way, he had gained for himself, with the Steady part 
of the school, (including as well those who wished 
to appear steady as those who really were so,) the 
character of a boy whom it would be dangerous to 
be intimate with ; while his own hatred of every 
thing cruel, or underhand, or false} and his hearty 
respect for what he could see to be good and true, 
kept off the rest. 

Tom, besides being very like East in many points 


FRIENDSHIP TESTED. 


359 


of character, had largely developed in his composition 
the capacity for taking the weakest side. This is 
not putting it strongly enough, it was a necessity 
with him, he couldn’t help it, any more than he could 
eating or drinking. He could never play on the 
strongest side with any heart at football or cricket, 
and was sure to make friends with any boy who’ was 
unpopular, or down on his luck. 

Now, though East was not what is generally called 
unpopular, Tom felt more and more every day, as 
their characters developed, that he stood alone, and 
did not make friends among their contemporaries ; 
and therefore sought him out. Tom was himself 
much more popular, for his power of detecting hum- 
bug was much less acute, and his instincts were 
much more sociable. He was at this period of his 
life, too, largely given to taking people for what they 
gave themselves out to be ; but his singleness of 
heart, fearlessness, and honesty, were just what East 
appreciated, and thus the two had been drawn into 
great intimacy. 

This intimacy had not been interrupted by Tom’s 
guardianship of Arthur. 

East had often, as has been said, joined them in 
reading the Bible ; but their discussions had almost 
always turned upon the characters of the men and 
women of whom they read, and not become per- 
sonal to themselves. In fact, the two had shrunk 
from personal religious discussion, not knowing how 
it might end ; and fearful of risking a friendship very 
dear to both, and which they felt somehow, without 
quite knowing why, would never be the same, but 


360 


FRIENDSHIP TESTED. 


either tenfold stronger or sapped at its foundation, 
after such a communing together. 

What a bother all this explaining is ! I wish we 
could get on without it. But we can’t. However, 
you’ll all find, if you haven’t found it already, that 
a time comes in every human friendship, when you 
must go down into the depths of yourself, and lay 
bare what is there to your friend, and wait in fear for 
his answer. A few moments may do it ; and, it may 
be (most likely will be, as you are English boys), 
that you never do it but once. But done it must 
be, if the friendship is to be worth the name. You 
must find what is there, at the very root and bottom 
of one another’s hearts ; and if you are at one 
there, nothing on earth can, or at least ought, to sun- 
der you. 

East had remained lying down until Tom finished 
speaking, as if fearing to interrupt him ; he now sat 
up at the table and leant his head on one hand, 
taking up a pencil with the other and working little 
holes with it in the table-cover. After a bit he 
looked up, stopped the pencil, and said, “ Thank you 
very much, old fellow; there’s no other boy in the 
house would have done it for me but you or Arthur. 
I can see well enough,” he went on after a pause, 
“ all the best big fellows look on me with suspicion ; 
they think I’m a devil-may-care reckless young scamp 
— so I am — eleven hours out of twelve — but not 
the twelfth. Then all of our contemporaries worth 
knowing, follow suit of course; we’re very good 
friends at games and all that, but not a soul of them 
but you and Arthur ever tried to break through the 


FRIENDSHIP TESTED. 


361 


crust, and see whether there was anything at the 
bottom of me ; and then the bad ones 1 won’t stand, 
and they know that.” 

“ Don’t you think that’s half fancy, Harry ? ” 

“ Not a bit of it,” said East, bitterly, pegging away 
with his pencil. “ I see it all plain enough. Bless 
you, you think everybody’s as straightforward and 
kind-hearted as you are.” 

“ Well, but what’s the reason of it? There must 
be a reason. You can play all the games as well as 
any one, and sing the best song, and are the best 
company in the house. You fancy you’re not liked, 
Harry. It’s all fancy.” 

“ I only wish it was, Tom. I know I could be 
popular enough with all the bad ones, but that I 
won’t have, and the good ones won’t have me.” 

“ Why not?” persisted Tom; “you don’t drink or 
swear, or get out at night ; you never bully, or cheat 
at lessons. If you only showed you liked it, you’d 
have all the best fellows in the house running after 
you.” 

“ Not I,” said East. Then with an effort he went 
on, “ I’ll tell you what it is. I never stop the Sacra- 
ment. I can see from the Doctor downwards, how 
that tells against me.” 

“ Yes, I’ve seen that,” said Tom, “ and I’ve been 
very sorry for it, and Arthur and I have talked about 
it. I’ve often thought of speaking to you, but it’s so 
hard to begin on such subjects. I’m very glad you’ve 
opened it. Now, why don’t you ? ” 

“ I’ve never been confirmed,” said East. 

“ Not been confirmed ! ” said Tom, in astonish- 


362 


east’s confessions. 


ment. I never thought of that. Why weren’t you 
confirmed with the rest of us nearly three years 
ago ? I always thought you’d been confirmed at 
home.” 

“ No,” answered East, sorrowfully ; “ you see this 
was how it happened. Last Confirmation was soon 
after Arthur came, and you were so taken up with 
him, I hardly saw either of you. Well, when the 
Doctor sent round for us about it, I was living 
mostly with Green’s set — you know the sort. They 
all went in — I dare say it was all right, and they got 
good by it; I don’t want to judge them. Only all 
I could see of their reasons drove me just the other 
way. ’Twas, ‘because the Doctor liked it;’ ‘no 
boy got on who didn’t stay the Sacrament ; ’ it was 
‘ the correct thing,’ in fact, like having a good hat to 
wear on Sundays. I couldn’t stand it. I didn’t feel 
that I wanted to lead a different life, I was very 
well content as I was, and I wasn’t going to sham 
religious to curry favour with the Doctor, or any 
one else.” 

East stopped speaking, and pegged away more 
diligently than ever with his pencil. Tom was 
ready to cry. He felt half sorry at first that he had 
been confirmed himself. He seemed to have de- 
serted his earliest friend, to have left him by himself 
at his worst need for those long years. He got up 
and went and sat by East, and put his arm over his 
shoulder. 

“ Dear old boy,” he said, “ how careless and selfish 
I’ve been. But why didn’t you come and talk to 
Arthur and me?” 


east’s confessions. 


363 


“ I wish to heaven I had,” said East, “ but I was 
a fool. It’s too late talking of it now.” 

“ Why too late ? You want to be confirmed now, 
don’t you ? ” „ 

“ I think so,” said East. “ I’ve thought about it a 
good deal ; only often I fancy I must be changing, 
because I see it’s to do me good here, just what 
stopped me last time. And then I go back again.” 

“ I’ll tell you now how ’twas with me,” said Tom, 
warmly. “ If it hadn’t been for Arthur, I should 
have done just as you did. I hope 1 should. I hon- 
our you for it. But then he made it out just as if 
it was taking the weak side before all the world — 
going in once for all against everything that’s strong 
and rich and proud and respectable, a little band 
of brothers against the whole world. And the Doc- 
tor seemed to gay so too, only he said a great deal 
more.” 

“ Ah,” groaned East, “ but there again, that’s just 
another of my difficulties whenever I think about 
the matter. I don’t want to be one of your saints, 
one of your elect, whatever the right phrase is. My 
sympathies are all the other way ; with the many, 
the poor devils who run about the streets and don’t 
go to church. Don’t stare, Tom ; mind I’m telling 
you all that’s in my heart — gts far as I know it — 
but it’s all a muddle. You must be gentle with me 
if you want to land me. Now I’ve seen a great deal 
of this sort of religion, I was bred up in it, and I 
can’t stand it. If nineteen-twentieths of the world 
are to be left to uncovenanted mercies, and that sort 
of thing, which means in plain English to go to hell, 


364 


tom’s prescription. 


and the other twentieth are to rejoice at it all, 
why — ” 

“ Oh ! but, Harry, they ain’t, they don’t,” broke 
in Tom, really shocked. “ Oh, how I wish Arthur 
hadn’t gone! I’m such a fool about these things. 
But it’s all you want too, East, it is indeed. It cuts 
both ways somehow, being confirmed and taking 
the Sacrament. It makes you feel on the side of 
all the good and all the bad too, of everybody in the 
world. Only there’s some great dark strong power, 
which is crushing you and everybody else. That’s 
what Christ conquered, and we’ve got to fight. 
What a fool I am ! I can’t explain. If Arthur were 
only here ! ” 

“ I begin to get a glimmering of what you mean,” 
said East. 

“ I say now,” said Tom eagerly, “ do you remem- 
ber how we both hated Flashman ? ” 

“ Of course I do,” said East ; “ I hate him still. 
What then ? ” 

“ Well, when I came to take the Sacrament, I had 
a great struggle about that. I tried to put him out 
of my head ; and when I couldn’t do that, I tried to 
think of him as evil, as something that the Lord who 
was loving me hated, and which I might hate too. 
But it wouldn’t do. I broke down ; I believe Christ 
himself broke me down ; and when the Doctor gave 
me the bread and wine, and leant over me praying, 
I prayed for poor Flashman as if it had been you or 
Arthur.” 

East buried his face in his hands on the table. 
Tom could feel the table tremble. At last he looked 


tom’s prescription. 


365 


up. “ Thank you again, Tom,” said he ; “ you don’t 
know what you may have done for me to-night. 1 
think I see now how the right sort of sympathy with 
poor devils is got at.” 

“ And you’ll stop the Sacrament next time, won’t 
you ? ” said Tom. 

“ Can I before I’m confirmed ? ” 

“ Go and ask the Doctor.” 

“ I will.” 

That very night, after prayers, East followed the 
Doctor and the old Verger bearing the candle, up 
stairs. Tom watched, and saw the Doctor turn 
round when he heard footsteps following him closer 
than usual, and say, “ Hah, East! Do you want to 
speak to me, my man ? ” 

u If you please, sir ; ” and the private door closed, 
and Tom went to his study in a state of great trouble 
of mind. 

It was almost an hour before East came back , 
then he rushed in breathless. 

“ Well, it’s all right,” he shouted, seizing Tom by 
the hand. “ I feel as if a ton weight were off my 
mind.” 

“ Hurra,” said Tom ; “ I knew it would be, but 
tell us all about it.” 

“ Well, I just told him all about it. You can’t 
think how kind and gentle he was, the great grim 
man, whom I’ve feared more than anybody on earth. 
When I stuck, he lifted me, just as if I’d been a little 
child. And he seemed to know all I’d felt, and to 
have gone through it all. And I burst out crying — 
more than I’ T7 e done this five years, and he sat down 

32 


366 


THE EFFECT THEREOF. 


by me, and stroked my head ; and I went blundering 
on, and told him all; much worse things than I’ve 
told you. And he wasn’t shocked a bit, and didn’t 
snub me, or tell me I was a fool, and it was all 
nothing but pride or wickedness, though I dare say it 
was. And he didn’t tell me not to follow out my 
thoughts, and he didn’t give me any cut-and-dried 
explanation. B.ut when I’d done he just talked a bit, 
I can hardly remember what he said, yet ; but it 
seemed to spread round me like healing, and strength, 
and light; and to bear me up, and plant me on a 
rock, where I could hold my footing and fight for 
myself. I don’t know what to do, I feel so happy. 
And it’s all owing to you, dear old boy ! ” and he 
seized Tom’s hand again. 

“ And you’re to come to the Communion ? ” said 
Tom. 

“Yes, and to be confirmed in the holidays.” 

Tom’s delight was as great as his friend’s. But 
he hadn’t yet had out all his own talk, and was bent 
on improving the occasion : so he proceeded to pro- 
pound Arthur’s theory about not being sorry for his 
friends’ deaths, which he had hitherto kept in the 
background, and by which he was much exercised; 
for he didn’t feel it honest to take what pleased him 
and throw over the rest, and was trying vigorously 
to persuade himself that he should like all his best 
friends to die off-hand. 

But East’s powers of remaining serious were ex- 
hausted, and in five minutes he was saying the most 
ridiculous things he could think of, till Tom was 
almost getting angry again. 


THE EFFECT THEREOF. 


367 


Despite of himself, however, he couldn’t help 
laughing and giving it up, when East* appealed to 
him with “ Well, Tom, you ain’t going to punch my 
head 1 hope, because I insist upon being sorry when 
you go to earth ? ” 

And so their talk finished for that time, and they 
tried to learn first-lesson ; with very poor success, as 
appeared next morning, when they were called up 
and narrowly escaped being floored, which ill-luck, 
however, did not sit heavily on either of their souls. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


TOM BROWN’S LAST MATCH. 

t( Heaven grant the manlier heart, that timely, ere 
Youth fly, with life’s real tempest would be coping; 

The fruit of dreamy hoping 
Is, waking, blank despair.” 

Clough. Ambarvalia. 

The curtain now rises upon the last act of our 
little drama — for hard-hearted publishers warn me 
that a single volume must of necessity have an end. 
Well, well ! the pleasantest things must come to an 
end. I little thought last long vacation, when I 
began these pages to help while away some spare 
time at a watering-place, how vividly many an old 
scene, which had lain hid away for years in some 
dusty old corner of my brain, would come back 
again, and stand before me as clear and bright, as if 
it had happened yesterday. The book has been a 
most grateful task to me, and I only hope that all 
you, my dear young friends, who read it, (friends 
assuredly you must be, if you get as far as this,) 
will be half as sorry to come to the last stage as I 
am. 

Not but what there has been a solemn and a sad 
&ide to it. As the old scenes became living, and 
the actors in them became living too, many a grave 


SCHOOL MEMORIES. 


369 


in the Crimea and distant India, as well as in the 
quiet churchyards of our dear old country, seemed to 
open and send forth their dead, and their voices and 
looks and ways were again in one’s ears and eyes, as 
in the old school days. But this was not sad ; how 
should it be, if we believe as our Lord has taught 
us ? How should it be, when one more turn of the 
wheel, and we shall be by their sides again, learning 
from them again, perhaps, as we did when we were 
new boys? 

Then there were others of the old faces so dear 
to us once, who had somehow or another just gone 
clean out of sight — are they dead or living ? We 
know not, but the thought of them brings no sad- 
ness with it. Wherever they are, we can well be- 
lieve they are doing God’s work and getting His 
wages. 

But are there not some, whom we still see some- 
times in the streets, whose haunts and homes we 
know, whom we could probably find almost any 
day in the week if we were set to do it, yet from 
whom we are really farther than we are from the 
dead, and from those who have gone out of our 
ken ? Yes, there are and must be such ; and therein 
lies the sadness of old school memories. Yet of 
these our old comrades, from whom more than time 
and space separate us, there are some, by whose 
sides we can feel sure that we shall stand again 
when time shall be no more. We may think of 
one another now as dangerous fanatics or narrow 
bigots, with whom no truce is possible, from whom 
we shall only sever more and more to the end of 
32 * 


370 


SCHOOL MEMORIES. 


our lives, whom it would be our respective duties to 
imprison or hang, if we had the power. We must 
go our way, and they theirs, as long as flesh and 
spirit hold together; but let our own Rugby poet 
speak words of healing for this trial : 

*« To veer how vain ! on, onward strain, 

Brave barks ! in light, in darkness too; 

Through winds and tides one compass guides, 

To that, and your own selves, be true. 

But, 0 blithe beeeze ! and 0 great seas, 

Though ne’er that earliest parting past. 

On your wide plain they join again. 

Together lead them home at last. 

One port, methought, alike they sought, 

One purpose hold where’er they fare. 

0 bounding breeze, 0 rushing seas ! 

At last, at last, unite them there ! ” * 

This is not mere longing, it is prophecy. So over 
these too, our old friends who are friends no more, 
we sorrow not as men without hope. It is only for 
those who seem to us to have lost compass and 
purpose, and to be drifting helplessly on rocks and 
quicksands ; whose lives are spent in the service of 
the world, the flesh and the devil ; for self alone, 
and not for their fellow-men, their country, or their 
God, that we must mourn and pray without sure 
hope and without light ; trusting only that He, in 
whose hands they as well as we are, who has died 
for them as well as for us, who sees all His crea- 
tures 

“ With larger, other eyes than ours, 

To make allowance for us all,** 


* Clough. Ambarvalia. 


THE END OF THE HALF-YEAR. 


371 


will, in His own way and at His own time, lead 
them also home. 

Another two years have passed, and it is again 
the end of the summer half-year at Rugby, in 
fact the school has broken up. The fifth-form 
examinations were over last week, and upon them 
have followed the speeches, and the sixth-form 
examinations for exhibitions; and they too are 
over now. The boys have gone to all the winds 
of heaven, except the town boys and the eleven, 
and the few enthusiasts besides who have asked 
leave to stay in their houses to see the result of the 
cricket matches. For this year the Wellesburn re- 
turn 'match and the Marylebone match are played at 
Rugby, to the great delight of the town and neigh- 
bourhood, and the sorrow of those aspiring young 
cricketers who have been reckoning for the last three 
months on showing off at Lords’ ground. 

The Doctor started for the lakes yesterday morn- 
ing, after an interview with the captain of the eleven, 
in the presence of Thomas, at which he arranged in 
what school the cricket dinners were to be, and all 
other matters necessary for the satisfactory carrying 
out of the festivities ; and warned them as to keeping 
all spirituous liquors out of the close, and having the 
gates closed by nine o’clock. 

The Wellesburn match was played out with 
great success yesterday, the school winning by 
three wickets; and to-day the great event of the 
cricketing year, the Marylebone match, is being 
played. What a match it has been ! The Lon- 


3i2 CRICKET-MATCHES IN THE SCHOOL CLOSE. 

don eleven came down by an afternoon train yes- 
terday, in time to see the end of the Wellesburn 
match ; and as soon as it was over their leading 
men and umpire inspected the ground, criticizing 
it rather unmercifully. The captain of the school 
eleven, and one or two others, who had played the 
Lords’ match before and knew old Mr. Aislebie and 
several of the Lords’ men, accompanied them ; while 
the rest of the eleven looked on from under the 
Three Trees with admiring eyes, and asked one 
another the names of the illustrious strangers, and 
recounted how many runs each of them had made 
in the late matches in Bell’s Life. They looked 
such hard-bitten, wiry, whiskered fellows, that their 
young adversaries felt rather desponding as to the 
result of the morrow’s match. The ground was 
at last chosen, and two men set to work upon it 
to water and roll ; and then, there being yet some 
half-hour of daylight, some one had suggested a 
dance on the turf. The close was half full of citi- 
zens and their families, and the idea was hailed 
with enthusiasm. The cornopean player was still 
on the ground ; in five minutes the eleven and half- 
a-dozen of the Wellesburn and Marylebone men got 
partners somehow or another, and a merry country 
dance was going On, to which every one flocked, 
and new couples joined in every minute, till there 
were a hundred of them going down the middle and 
up again — and the long line of school buildings 
looked gravely down on them, every window glow- 
ing with the last rays of the western sun, and the 
rooks clanged about in the tops of the old elms, 


CRICKET-MATCHES IN THE SCHOOL CLOSE. 373 


greatly excited and resolved on having their country 
dance too, and the great flag flapped lazily in the 
gentle western breeze. Altogether it was a sight 
which would have made glad the heart of our brave 
old founder, Lawrence Sheriff*, if he were half as 
good a fellow as I take him to have been. It was 
a cheerful sight to see ; but what made it so valuable 
in the sight of the captain of the school eleven was, 
that he there saw his young hands shaking off 
their shyness and awe of the Lords’ men, as they 
crossed hands and capered about on the grass to- 
gether ; for the strangers entered into it all, ancf 
threw away their cigars, and danced and shouted 
like boys ; while old Mr. Aislebie stood by looking 
on, in his white hat, leaning on a bat, in benevo- 
lent enjoyment. “ This hop will be worth thirty 
runs to us to-morrow, and will be the making 
of Raggles and Johnson,” thinks the young leader, 
as he revolves many things in his mind, standing by 
the side of Mr. Aislebie, whom he will not leave for 
a minute, for he feels that the character of the school 
for courtesy is resting on his shoulders. 

But when a quarter to nine struck, and he saw 
old Thomas beginning to fidget about with the keys 
in his hand, he thought of the Doctors parting 
monition, and stopped the cornopean at once, not- 
withstanding the loud-voiced remonstrances from all 
sides ; and the crowd scattered away from the close, 
the eleven all going into the school-house, where 
supper and beds were provided for them by the 
Doctor’s orders. 

Deep had been the consultations at supper as to 


374 


THE MARYLEBONE MATCH. 


the order of going in, who should bowl the first over, 
whether it would be best to play steady or freely ; 
and the youngest hands declared that they shouldn’t 
be a bit nervous, and praised their opponents as 
the j oiliest fellows in the world, except, perhaps, 
their old friends the Wellesburn men. How far a 
little good-nature from their elders will go with the 
right sort of boys ! 

The morning had dawned bright and warm, to 
the intense relief of many an anxious youngster, 
up betimes to mark the signs of the weather. 
The eleven went down in a body before break- 
fast, for a plunge in the cold bath in the corner 
of the close. The ground was in splendid order, 
and soon after ten o’clock, before spectators had 
arrived, all was ready, and two of the Lords’ men 
took their places at the wicket ; the school with 
the usual liberality of young hands, having put 
their adversaries in first. Old Bailey stepped up 
to the wicket, and called play, and the match has 
begun. 

“ Oh, well bowled ! well bowled, Johnson ! ” cries 
the captain, catching up the ball and sending it 
high above the rook trees, while the third Maryle- 
bone man walks away from the wicket, and old 
Bailey gravely sets up the middle stump again and 
puts the bails on. 

“ How many runs ? ” Away scamper three boys 
to the scoring table, and are back again in a minute 
amongst the rest of the eleven, who are collected 
together in a knot between wicket. “ Only eighteen 


THE MABYLEBONE MATCH. 


375 


runs, and three wickets down ! ” “ Huzza, for old 

Rugby ! ” sings out Jack Haggles, the long-stop, 
toughest and burliest of boys, commonly called 
“ Swiper Jack;” and forthwith stands on his head, 
and brandishes his legs in the air in triumph, till 
the next boy catches hold of his heels and throws 
him over on to his back. 

“ Steady there, don’t be such an ass, Jack,” says 
the captain, “ we haven’t got the best wicket yet. 
Ah, look out now at cover-point,” adds he, as he 
sees a long-armed, bare-headed, slashing looking 
player coming to the wicket. “ And, Jack, mind 
your hits, he steals more runs than any man in 
England.” 

And they all find that they have got their work to 
do now; the new comer’s off-hitting is tremendous, 
and his running like a flash of lightning. He is 
never in his ground, except when his wicket is 
down. Nothing in the whole game so trying to 
boys ; he has stolen three byes in the first ten 
minutes, and Jack Haggles is furious, and begins 
throwing over savagely to the further wicket, until 
he is sternly stopped by the captain. It is all that 
the young gentleman can do to keep his team 
steady, but he knows that everything depends on 
it, and faces his work bravely. The score creeps 
up to fifty, the boys begin to look blank, and the 
spectators, who are now mustering strong, are very 
silent. The ball flies off his bat to all parts of the 
field, and he gives no rest and no catches to any 
one. But cricket is full of glorious chances, and 
the goddess who presides over it loves to bring 


376 


THE MARYLEBONE MATCH. 


down the most skilful players. Johnson, the young 
bowler, is getting wild, and bowls a ball almost wide 
to the oft’; the batter steps out and cuts it beauti- 
fully to where cover-point is standing very deep, in 
fact almost off the ground. The ball comes skim- 
ming and twisting along about three feet from the 
ground ; he rushes at it, and it sticks somehow or 
other in the fingers of his left hand, to the utter 
astonishment of himself and the whole field. Such a 
catch hasn’t been made in the close for years, and the 
cheering is maddening. “ Pretty cricket,” says the 
captain, throwing himself on the ground by the de- 
serted wicket with a long breath ; he feels that a 
crisis has passed. 

I wish I had space to describe the whole match ; 
how the captain stumped the next man off a leg- 
shooter, and bowled slow cobs to old Mr. Aislebie, 
who came in for the last wicket. How the Lords’ 
men were out by half-past twelve o’clock for ninety- 
eight runs. How the captain of the school eleven 
went in first to give his men pluck, and scored 
twenty-five in beautiful style ; how Rugby was only 
four behind in the first innings. What a glorious 
dinner they had in the fourth-form school, and how 
the cover-point hitter sang the most topping comic 
songs, and old Mr. Aislebie made the best speeches 
that ever were heard, afterwards. But I haven’t 
space, that’s the fact, and so you must fancy it all, 
and carry yourselves on to half-past seven o’clock, 
when the school are again in, with five wickets down 
and only thirty-two runs to make to win. The 
Marylebone men played carelessly in their second 


SOME OLD FRIENDS. 


377 


innings, but they are working like horses now to save 
the match. 

There is much healthy, hearty, happy life scattered 
up and down the close ; but the group to which I 
beg to call your special attention is there, on the 
slope of the island, which looks towards the cricket- 
ground. It consists of three figures ; two are seated 
on a bench, and one on the ground at their feet. The 
first, a tall, slight, and rather gaunt man, with a 
bushy eyebrow and a dry humourous* smile, is evi- 
dently a clergyman. He is carelessly dressed, and 
looks rather used up, which isn’t much to be won- 
dered at, seeing that he has just finished six weeks 
of examination work ; but there he basks, and 
spreads himself out in the evening sun, bent on en- 
joying life, though he doesn’t quite know what to do 
with his arms and legs. Surely it is our friend the 
young Master, whom we have had glimpses of before, 
but his face has gained a great deal since we last 
came across him. 

And by his side, in white flannel shirt and trou- 
sers, straw hat, the captain’s belt, and the untanned 
yellow cricket shoes which all the eleven wear, sits a 
strapping figure near six feet high, with ruddy tanned 
face and whiskers, curly brown hair, and a laughing 
dancing eye. He is leaning forward with his elbows 
resting on his knees, and dandling his favourite bat, 
with which he has made thirty or forty runs to-day, 
in his strong brown hands. It is Tom Brown, grown 
into a young man nineteen years old, a praepostor 
and captain of the eleven, spending his last day as a 
Rugby boy, and let us hope as much wiser as he is 
33 


378 


SOME OLD FRIENDS. 


bigger since we last had the pleasure of coming 
across him. 

And at their feet on the warm diy ground, simi- 
larly dressed, sits Arthur, Turkish fashion, with his bat 
across his knees. He too is no longer a boy, less of 
a boy. in fact than Tom, if one may judge from the 
thoughtfulness of his face, which is somewhat paler 
too than one could wish ; but his figure, though 
slight, is well knit and active, and all his old timidity 
has disappeared, and is replaced by silent quaint fun, 
with which his face twinkles all over, as he listens to 
the broken talk between the other two, in which he 
joins every now and then. 

All three are watching the game eagerly, and 
joining in the cheering which follows every good 
hit. It is pleasing to see the easy friendly footing 
which the pupils are on with their master, perfectly 
respectful, yet with no reserve and nothing forced in 
their intercourse. Tom has clearly abandoned the 
old theory of “ natural enemies ” in this case at any 
rate. 

But it is time to listen to what they are saying, and 
see what we can gather out of it. 

“ I don’t object to your theory,” says the master, 
u and I allow you have made a fair case for yourself. 
But now, in such books as Aristophanes for instance, 
you’ve been reading a play this half with the Doctor, 
haven’t you ? ” 

“ Yes, the Knights,” answered Tom. 

“ Well, I’m sure you would have enjoyed the won- 
derful humour of it twice as much if you had taken 
more pains with your scholarship.” 


THEIR TALK. 


379 


M Well, sir, I don’t believe any boy in the form 
enjoyed the sets-to between Cleon and the Sausage- 
seller more than I did — eh, Arthur?” said Tom, 
giving him a stir with his foot. 

“ Yes, I must say he did,” said Arthur. “ I think, 
sir, you’ve hit upon the wrong book there.” 

“ Not a bit of it,” said the master. “ Why, in 
those very passages of arms, how can you thoroughly 
appreciate them unless you are master of the weap- 
ons ? and the weapons are the language which you, 
Brown, have never half worked at ; and so, as I say, 
you must have lost all the delicate shades of mean- 
ing which make the best part of the fun.” 

“ Oh ! well played — Bravo, Johnson ! ” shouted 
Arthur, dropping his bat and clapping furiously, and 
Tom joined in with a “ bravo, Johnson ! ” which 
might have been heard at the chapel. 

“ Eh ! what was it ? I didn’t see,” inquired the 
master ; “ they only got one run I thought? ” 

“ No, but such a ball, three-quarters length and 
coming straight for his leg bail. Nothing but that 
turn of the wrist could have saved him, and he drew 
it away to leg for a safe one. Bravo, Johnson! ” 

“ How well they are bowling though,” said Ar- 
thur; “they don’t mean to be beat, I can see.” 

“ There now,” struck in the master, “ you see that’s 
just what I have been preaching this half-hour. The 
delicate play is the true thing. I don’t understand 
cricket, so I don’t enjoy those fine draws which you 
tell me are the best play, though when you or Rag- 
gles hit a ball hard away for six, I am as delighted as 
any one. Don’t you see the analogy? ” 


380 


THEIR TALK. 


“ Yes, sir,” answered Tom, looking up roguishly, 
“ I see ; only the question remains, whether I should 
have got most good by understanding Greek particles 
or cricket thoroughly. I’m such a thick, I never 
should have had time for both.” 

“ I see you are an incorrigible,” said the master 
with a chuckle, “ but I refute you by an example, 
Arthur there has taken in Greek and cricket too.” 

“ Yes, bat no thanks to him ; Greek came natural 
to him. Why, when he first came I remember he 
used to read Herodotus for pleasure as I did Don 
Quixote, and couldn’t have made a false concord if 
he’d tried ever so hard — and then I looked after his 
cricket.” 

“Out! Bailey has given him out — do you see, 
Tom ? ” cries Arthur. “ How foolish of them to run 
so hard.” 

“ Well, it can’t be helped, he has played very well. 
Whose turn is it to go in ? ” 

“I don’t know; they’ve got your list in the tent.” 

“ Let’s go and see,” said Tom, rising ; but at this 
moment Jack Raggles and two or three more come 
running to the island moat. 

“ Oh, Brown, mayn’t I go in next ? ” shouts the 
S wiper. 

“ Whose name is next on the list ? ” says the 
captain. 

“ Winter’s, and then Arthur’s,” answers the boy 
who carries it ; “ but there are only twenty-six runs 
to get, and no time to lose. I heard Mr. Aislebie 
say that the stumps must be drawn at a quarter-past 
eight exactly.” 


THEIR TALK. 


881 


“ Oh, do let the S wiper go in,” chorus the boys ; 
so Tom yields against his better judgment. 

“ I dare say now I’ve lost the match by this non- 
sense,” he says, as he sits down again : “ they’ll be 
sure to get Jack’s wicket in three or four minutes; 
however, you’ll have the chance, sir, of seeing a 
hard hit or two,” adds he smiling and turning to the 
master. 

“ Come, none of your irony, Brown,” answers the 
master. “ I’m beginning to understand the game 
scientifically. What a noble game it is too.” 

“Isn’t it? But it’s more than a game. It’s an 
institution,” said Tom. 

“ Yes,” said Arthur, “ the birthright of British boys, 
old and young, as habeas corpus and trial by jury 
are of British men.” 

“ The discipline and reliance on one another which 
it teaches is so valuable I think,” went on the master, 
“ it ought to be such an unselfish game. It merges 
the individual in the eleven ; he doesn’t play that he 
may win, but that his side may.” 

“ That’s very true,” said Tom, “ and that’s why 
football and cricket, now one comes to think of it, 
are such much better games than fives’ or hare-and- 
hounds, or any others where the object is to come 
in first or to win for oneself, and not that one’s side 
may win.” 

“ And then the captain of the eleven!” said the 
master, “ what a post is his in our school-world ! 
almost as hard as the Doctor’s; requiring skill and 
gentleness and firmness, and I know not what other 
rare qualities.” 


33* 


382 


THEIR TALK. 


“ Which don’t he wish he may get? said Tom, 
laughing, “ at any rate he hasn’t got them yet, or he 
wouldn’t have been such a flat to-night as to let Tack 
Raggles go in out of his turn.” 

“Ah! the Doctor never would have done that,” 
said Arthur, demurely. “ Tom, you’ve a great deal 
to learn yet in the art of ruling.” 

“ Well, I wish you’d tell the Doctor so then, and 
get him to let me stop till I’m twenty. I don’t want 
to leave, I’m sure.” 

“ What a sight it is,” broke in the master, “ the 
Doctor as a ruler. Perhaps ours is the only little 
corner of the British Empire which is thoroughly, 
wisely, and strongly ruled just now. I’m more and 
more thankful every day of my life that I came here 
to be under him.” 

“ So am I, I’m sure,” said Tom ; “ and more and 
more sorry that I’ve got to leave.” 

“ Every place and thing one sees here reminds 
one of some wise act of his,” went on the master. 
“ This island now — you remember the time, Brown, 
when it was laid out in small gardens, and culti- 
vated by frost-bitten fags in February and March ? ” 

“ Of course I do,” said Tom ; “ didn’t I hate 
spending two hours in the afternoons grubbing in 
the tough dirt with the stump of a fives’ bat ? But 
turf-cart was good fun enough.” 

“ I dare say it was, but it was always leading to 
fights with the townspeople; and then the stealing 
* flowers out of all the gardens in Rugby for the 
Easter show was abominable.” 

“ Well, so it was,” said Tom, looking down, “but 


THEIR TALK. 


383 


we fags couldn’t help ourselves. But what has that 
to do with the Doctor’s ruling ? ” 

“ A great deal, I think,” s.aid the master ; “ what 
brought island-fagging to an end ? ” 

“ Why, the Easter speeches were put off till Mid- 
summer,” said Tom, “ and the sixth had the gym- 
nastic poles put up here.” 

“ Well, and who changed the time of the speeches, 
and put the idea of gymnastic poles into the heads 
of their worships the sixth form ? ” said the master. 

“ The Doctor, I suppose,” said Tom. “ I never 
thought of that.” 

“ Of course you didn’t,” said the master, “ or else, 
fag as you were, you would have shouted with the 
whole school against putting down old customs. 
And that’s the way that all the Doctor’s reforms have 
been carried out when he has been left to himself — 
quietly and naturally, putting a good thing in the 
place of a bad, and letting the bad die out ; no wav- 
ering and no hurry — the best thing that could be 
done for the time being, and patience for the rest.” 

u Just Tom’s own way,” chimed in Arthur, nudg- 
ing Tom with his elbow, “ driving a nail where it 
will go ; ” to which allusion Tom answered by a sly 
kick. 

“ Exactly so,” said the master, innocent of the 
allusion and by-play. 

Meantime Jack Haggles, with his sleeves tucked 
up above his great brown elbows, scorning pads and 
gloves, has presented himself at the wicket ; ancj 
having run one for a forward drive of Johnson’s, is 
about to receive his first ball. There are only 


384 


JACK HAGGLES’ INNINGS. 


twenty-four runs to make, and four wickets to gc 
down, a winning match if they play decently steady. 
The ball is a very swift one, and rises fast, catching 
Jack on the outside of the thigh, and bounding away 
as if from india-rubber, while they run two for a 
leg-bye amidst great applause, and shouts from Jack’s 
many admirers. The next ball is a beautifully pitch- 
ed ball for the outer stump, which the reckless and 
unfeeling Jack catches hold of, and hits right round 
to leg for five, while the applause becomes deafen- 
ing ; only seventeen runs to get with four wickets — 
the game is all but ours ! 

It is over now, and Jack walks swaggering about 
his wicket, with the bat over his shoulder, while Mr* 
Aislebie holds a short parley with his men. Then 
the cover-point hitter, that cunning man, goes on to 
bowl slow twisters. Jack waves his hand trium- 
phantly towards the tent, as much as to say, “ see if 
I don’t finish it all off now in three hits.” 

Alas, my son Jack ! the enemy is too old for thee. 
The first ball of the over Jack steps out and meets, 
swiping with all his force. If he had only allowed 
for the twist! but he hasn’t, and so the ball goes 
spinning up straight into the air, as if it would never 
come down again. Away runs Jack, shouting and 
trusting to the chapter of accidents, but the bowler 
runs steadily under it, judging every spin, and call- 
ing out “ I have it,” catches it, and playfully pitches 
it on to the back of the stalwart Jack, who is depart- 
ing with a rueful countenance. 

“ I knew how it would, be,” says Tom, rising. 
<( Come along, the game’s getting very serious.” 


THE FINISH. 


385 


So they leave the island and go to the tent, and 
after deep consultation Arthur is sent in, and goes 
off to the wicket with a last exhortation from Tom, 
to play steady and keep his bat straight To the 
suggestions that Winter is the best bat left, Tom 
only replies, “ Arthur is the steadiest, and Johnson 
will make the runs if the wicket is only kept up.” 

“ I am surprised to see Arthur in the eleven,” said 
the master, as they stood together in front of the 
dense crowd, which was now closing in round the 
ground. 

“ Well, I’m not quite sure that he ought to be in 
for his play,” said Tom, “ but I couldn’t help put- 
ting him in. It will do him so much good, and you 
can’t think what I owe him.” 

The master smiled. The clock strikes eight, and 
the whole field becomes fevered with excitement. 
Arthur, after two narrow escapes, scores one ; and 
Johnson gets the ball. The bowling and fielding are 
superb, and Johnson’s batting worthy the occasion. 
He makes here a two and there a one* managing to 
keep the ball to himself, and Arthur backs up and 
runs perfectly ; only eleven runs to make now, and 
the crowd scarcely breathe. At last Arthur gets the 
ball again, and actually drives it forward for two, 
and feels prouder than when he got the three best 
prizes, at hearing Tom’s shouts of joy, “ Well played, 
well played, young ’un ! ” 

But the next ball is too much for a young hand, 
and his bails fly different ways. Nine runs to make, 
and two wickets to go down — it is too much for 
human nerves. 


386 


THE FINISH. 


Before Winter can get in, the omnibus which is 
to take the Lords’ men to the train pulls up at the 
side of the close, and Mr. Aislebie and Tom consult, 
and give out that the stumps will be drawn after the 
next over. And so ends the great match. Winter 
and Johnson carry out their bats, and, it being a 
one day’s match, the Lords’ men are declared the 
winners, they having scored the most in the first 
innings. 

But such a defeat is a victory: so think Tom and 
all the school eleven, as they accompany their con- 
querors to the omnibus, and send them off with three 
ringing cheers, after Mr. Aislebie has shaken hands 
all round, saying to Tom, “ I must compliment you, 
sir, on your eleven, and I hope we shall have you for 
a member if you come up to town.” 

As Tom and the rest of the eleven were turning 
back into the close, and everybody was beginning to 
cry out for another country dance, encouraged by the 
success of the night before, the young master who 
was just leaving the close, stopped him, and asked 
him to come up to tea at half-past eight, adding, 
“ I won’t keep you more than half-an-hour, and ask 
Arthur to come up too.” 

“ I’ll come up with you directly if you’ll let me,” 
said Tom, “ for I feel rather melancholy, and not 
quite up to the country dance and supper with the 
rest.” 

“ Do, by all means,” said the master, “ I’ll wait 
here for you.” 

So Tom went off to get his boots and things from 
the tent, to tell Arthur of the invitation, and to 


SHUT OUT. 


387 


speak to his second in command about stopping the 
dancing and shutting up the close as soon as it 
grew dusk. Arthur promised to follow as soon as 
he had had a dance. So Tom handed his things 
over to the man in charge of the tent, and walked 
quietly away to the gate where the master was 
waiting, and the two took their way together up the 
Hilm orton road. 

Of course they found the master’s house locked 
up, and all the servants away in the close, about 
this time no doubt footing it away on the grass 
with extreme delight to themselves, and in utter 
oblivion of the unfortunate bachelor their master, 
whose one enjoyment in the shape of meals was his 
“ dish of tea ” (as our grandmothers called it) in the 
evening ; and the phrase was apt in his case, for he 
always poured his out into the saucer before drink- 
ing. Great was the good man’s horror at finding 
himself shut out of his own house. Had he been 
alone he would have treated it as a matter of course, 
and would have strolled contentedly up and down 
his gravel- walk until some one came home ; but he 
was hurt at the stain on his character of host, es- 
pecially as the guest was a pupil. However, the 
guest seemed to think it a great joke, and presently 
as they poked about round the house, mounted a wall 
from which he could reach a passage window : the 
window, as it turned out, was not bolted, so in 
another minute Tom was in the house and down at 
the front door, which he opened from inside. The 
master chuckled grimly at this burglarious entry, and 
insisted on leaving the hall door and two of the 


388 


HOW THEY GOT IN. 


front windows open, to frighten the truants on their 
return ; and then the two set about foraging for tea, 
in which operation the master was much at fault, 
having the faintest possible idea of where to find 
anything, and being moreover wondrously short- 
sighted ; but Tom by a sort of instinct knew the 
right cupboards in the kitchen and pantry, and soon 
managed to place on the snuggery table better 
materials for a meal than had appeared there prob- 
ably during the reign of his tutor, who was then 
and there initiated, amongst other things, into the 
excellence of that mysterious condiment, a dripping 
cake. The cake was newly baked, and all rich and 
flaky ; Tom had found it reposing in the cook’s pri- 
vate cupboard, awaiting her return ; and as a warning 
to her they finished it to the last crumb. The kettle 
sang away merrily on the hob of the snuggery, for, 
notwithstanding the time of year, they lighted a fire, 
throwing both the windows wide open at the same 
time ; the heap of books and papers were pushed 
away to the other end of the table, and the great 
solitary engraving of King’s College Chapel over the 
mantel-piece looked less stiff than usual, as they 
settled themselvespidown in the twilight to the serious 
drinking of tea. 

After some talk on the match, and other indifferent 
subjects, the conversation came naturally back to 
Tom’s approaching departure, over which he began 
again to make his moan. 

“ Well, we shall all miss you quite as much as 
you will miss us,” said the master. “ You are the 
Nestor of the school now, are you not? ” 


HARRY EAST. 


389 


w Yes, ever since East left,” answered Tom. 

By-the-bye, have yon heard from him? ” 

“ Yes, I had a letter in February, just before he 
started for India to join his regiment.” 

“ He will make a capital officer.” 

“Aye, won't he!” said Tom, brightening; “no 
fellow could handle boys better, and I suppose sol- 
diers are very like boys. And he’ll never tell them 
to go where he won’t go himself. No mistake about 
that — a braver fellow never walked.” 

“ His year in the sixth will have taught him a 
good deal that will be useful to him now.” 

“ So it will,” said Tom, staring into the fire. 
“ Poor dear Harry,” he went on, “ how well I re- 
member the day we were put out of the twenty. 
How he rose to the situation, and burnt his cigar- 
cases, and gave away his pistols, and pondered on 
the constitutional authority of the sixth, and his new 
duties to the Doctor, and the fifth-form, and the 
fags. Aye, and no fellow ever acted up to them 
better, though he was always a people’s man — for 
the fags, and against constituted authorities. He 
couldn’t help that, you know. I’m sure the Doctor 
must have liked him ? ” said Tom, looking up in- 
quiringly. 

“ The Doctor sees the good in every one, and ap- 
preciates it,” said the master, dogmatically, “but 1 
hope East will get a good colonel. He won’t do if 
he can’t respect those above him. How long it took 
him, even here, to learn the lesson of obeying.” 

“ Well, I wish I were alongside of him,” said 
Tom. “ If I can’t be at Rugby, I want to be at work 

34 


3S0 


"WORK IN THE WORLD. 


in the world, and not dawdling away three years at 
Oxford.” 

“ What do you mean by 4 at work in the world ? ’ ” 
said the master, pausing, with his lips close to his 
saucer-full of tea, and peering at Tom over it. 

“ Well, I mean real work ; one’s profession ; what- 
ever one will have really to do, and make one’s living 
by. I want to be doing some real good, feeling that 
I am not only at play in the world,” answered Tom, 
rather puzzled to find out himself what he really did 
mean. 

44 You are mixing up two very different things in 
your head, I think, Brown,” said the master, putting 
down his empty saucer, “ and you ought to get clear 
about them. You talk of 4 working to get your liv- 
ing,’ and 4 doing some real good in the world,’ in the 
same breath. Now you may be getting a very good 
living in a profession, and yet doing no good at all 
in the world, but quite the contrary, at the same 
time. Keep the latter before you as your one 
object, and you will be right, whether you make a 
living or not ; but if you dwell on the other, you’ll 
very likely drop into mere money-making, and let 
the world take care of itself for good or evil. Don’t 
be in a hurry about finding your work in the world 
for yourself ; you are not old enough to judge for 
yourself yet, but just look about you in the place 
you find yourself in, and try to make things a little 
better and honester there. You’ll find plenty to 
keep your hand in at Oxford, or wherever else you 
go. And don’t be led away to think this part of 
the world important, and that unimportant. Every 


WORK IN THE WORLD. 


391 


corner of the world is important. No man knows 
whether this part or that is most so, but every man 
may do some honest work in his own corner.” And 
then the good man went on to talk wisely to Tom 
of the sort of work which he might take up as an 
undergraduate ; and warned him of the prevalent 
University sins, and explained to him the many and 
great differences between University and school life ; 
till the twilight changed into darkness, and they 
heard the truant servants stealing in by the back 
entrance. 

“ I wonder where Arthur can be,” said Tom at 
last, looking at his watch ; u why, it’s nearly half-past 
nine already.” 

“ Oh, he is comfortably at supper with the eleven, 
lorgetful of his oldest friends,” said the master. 
w Nothing has given me greater pleasure,” he went 
on, “ than your friendship for him, it has been the 
making of you both.” 

“ Of me, at any rate,” answered Tom ; “ I should 
never have been here now but for him. It was the 
luckiest chance in the world that sent him to Rugby, 
and made him my chum.” 

“ Why do you talk of lucky chances?” said the 
master ; “ I don’t know that there are any such 
things in the world ; at any rate there was neither 
luck nor chance in that matter.” 

Tom looked at him inquiringly, and he went on. 
“ Do you remember when the Doctor lectured you 
and East at the end of one half-year, when yoli 
were in the shell, and had been getting into all sorts 
of scrapes ? ” 


392 


THE DOCTOR S WORK. 


“ Yes, well enough,” said Tom, “ it was the half 
year before Arthur came.” 

“ Exactly so,” answered the master. “ Now I 
was with him a few minutes afterwards, and he 
was in great distress about you two. And, after 
some talk, we both agreed that you in particular 
wanted some object in the school beyond games 
and mischief, for it was quite clear that you never 
would make the regular school work your first 
object. And so the Doctor at the beginning of the 
next half-year, looked out the best of the new boys 
and separated you and East, and put the young boy 
into your study, in the hope that when you had 
somebody to lean on you, you would begin to stand 
a little steadier yourself, and get manliness and 
thoughtfulness. And I can assure you he has 
watched the experiment ever since with great satis- 
faction. Ah! not one of you boys will ever know 
the anxiety you have given him, or the care with 
which he has watched over every step in your school 
lives.” 

Up to this time Tom had never wholly given 
in to, or understood the Doctor. At first he had 
thoroughly feared him. For some years, as I have 
tried to show, he had learnt to regard him with love 
and respect, and to think him a very great and wise 
and good man. But, as regarded his own position 
in the school, of which he was no little proud, Tom 
had no idea of giving any one credit for it but 
himself ; and, truth to tell, was a very self-conceked 
young gentleman on the subject. He was wont to 
boast that he had fought his own way fairly up the 


A NEW LIGHT. 


393 


school, and had never made up to, or been taken up 
by any big fellow or master, and that it was now 
quite a different place from what it was when he 
first came. And indeed, though he didn’t actually 
boast of it, yet in his secret soul he did to a great 
extent believe, that the great reform in the school 
had been owing quite as much to himself as to any 
one else. Arthur, he acknowledged, had done him 
good, and taught him a good deal, so had other 
boys in different ways; but they had not had the 
same means of influence on the school in general ; 
and as for the Doctor, why he was a splendid 
master, but every one knew that masters could do 
very little out of school hours. In short, he felt on 
terms of equality with his chief, so far as the social 
state of the school was concerned, and thought that 
the Doctor would find it no easy matter to get on 
without him. Moreover, his school toryism was 
still strong, and he looked still with some jealousy 
on the Doctor, as somewhat of a fanatic in the mat- 
ter of change ; and thought it very desirable for the 
school that he should have some wise person (such 
as himself) to look sharply after vested school-rights, 
and see that nothing was done to the injury of the 
republic without due protest. 

It was a new light to him to find, that besides 
teaching the sixth, and governing and guiding the 
whole school, editing classics, and writing histories, 
the great head-master had found time in those busy 
years to watch over the career, even of him, Tom 
Brown, and his particular friends, — and, no doubt, 
of fifty other boys at the same time ; and all this 

* 34 * 


394 


HERO-WORSHIP. 


without taking the least credit to himself, or seem 
ing to know, or let any one else know, that he ever 
thought particularly of any boy at all. 

However, the Doctor’s victory was complete from 
that moment over Tom Brown at any rate. He 
gave way at all points, and the enemy marched right 
over him, cavalry, infantry, and artillery, the land 
transport corps, and the camp followers. It had 
taken eight long years to do it, but now it was done 
thoroughly, and there wasn’t a corner of him left 
which didn’t believe in the Doctor. Had he returned 
to school again, and the Doctor begun the half-year 
by abolishing fagging, and football, and the Saturday 
half-holiday, or all or any of the most cherished 
school institutions, Tom would have supported him 
with the blindest faith. And so, after a half confes- 
sion of his previous short-comings, and sorrowful 
adieus to his tutor, from whom he received two beau- 
tifully-bound volumes of the Doctor’s Sermons, as a 
parting present, he marched down to the school- 
house, a hero-worshipper, who would have satisfied 
the soul of Thomas Carlyle himself. 

There he found the eleven at high jinks after 
supper, Jack Raggles shouting comic songs, and 
performing feats of strength ; and was greeted by 
a chorus of mingled remonstrance at his desertion, 
and joy at his reappearance. And falling in with 
the humour of the evening, was soon as great a boy 
as all the rest ; and at ten o’clock was chaired round 
the quadrangle, on one of the hall benches, borne 
aloft by the eleven, shouting in chorus, “ For he’s a 
jolly good fellow,” while old Thomas, in a melting 


HEUO-WORSHIP. 


395 


mood, and the other school-house servants, stood 
looking on. 

And the next morning after breakfast he squared 
up all the cricketing accounts, went round to his 
tradesmen and other acquaintance, and said his 
hearty good-byes ; and by twelve o’clock was in the 
train, and away for London, no longer a school-boy, 
and divided in his thoughts between hero-worship, 
honest regrets over the long stage of his life which 
was now slipping out of sight behind him, and hopes 
and resolves for the next stage, upon which he was 
entering with all the confidence of a young traveller. 


CHAPTER IX. 


v 



FINIS. 

“ Strange friend, past, present, and to be; 

Loved deeplier, darklier understood; 

Behold, I dream a dream of good, 

And mingle all the world with thee.” 

Tennyson. 

, 

In the summer of 1842, our hero stopped once 
again at the well-known station ; and, leaving his 
bag and fishing-rod with a porter, walked slowly 
and sadly up towards the town. It was now July. 
He had rushed away from Oxford the moment that 
term was over, for a fishing ramble in Scotland, with 
two college friends, and had been for three weeks 
living on oatcake, mutton-hams, and whiskey, in 
the wildest parts of Skye. They had descended 
one sultry evening on the little inn at Kyle Rhea 
ferry, and while Tom and another of the party put 
their tackle together and began exploring the stream 
for a sea-trout for supper, the third strolled into the 
house to arrange for their entertainment. Presently 
he came out in a loose blouse and slippers, a short 
pipe in his mouth, and an old newspaper in his \ 
hand, and threw himself on the heathery scrub, 
which met the shingle within easy hail of the fish- 
ermen. There he lay, the picture of free-and-easy 

/ . 


FINIS. 


397 


loafing, hand-to-mouth young England, ‘ improving 
his mind,’ as he shouted to them, by the perusal of 
the fortnight-old weekly paper, soiled with the marks 
of toddy-glasses and tobacco ashes, the legacy of the 
last traveller, which he had hunted out from the 
kitchen of the little hostelry, and being a youth of a 
communicative turn of mind, began imparting the 
contents to the fishermen as he went on. 

“ What a bother they are making about these 
wretched corn laws ; here’s three or four columns 
full of nothing but sliding scales and fixed duties. — 
Hang this tobacco, it’s always going out! — Ah, 
here’s something better — a splendid match between 
Kent and England, Brown ! Kent winning by three 
wickets. Felix fifty-six runs without a chance, and 
not out ! ” 

Tom, intent on a fish which had risen at him 
twice, answered only with a grunt. 

“ Anything about the Goodwood ? ” called out the 
third man. 

“ Rory-o-more drawn. Butterfly colt amiss,” 
shouted the student. 

“Just my luck,” grumbled the inquirer, jerking his 
flies off the water, and throwing again with a heavy 
sullen splash, and frightening Tom’s fish. 

“ I say, can’t you throw lighter over there ? we 
ain’t fishing for grampuses,” shouted Tom across the 
stream. 

“ Hullo, Brown ! here’s something for you,” called 
out the reading man next moment. “ Why, your old 
master, Arnold of Rugby, is dead.” 

Tom’s hand stopped half-way in his cast, and his 


398 


FINIS. 


line and flies went all tangling round and round his 
rod; you might have knocked him over with a 
feather. Neither of his companions took any notice 
of him luckily ; and with a violent effort he set to 
work mechanically to disentangle his line. He felt 
completely carried off his moral and intellectual 
legs, as if he had lost his standing point in the 
invisible world. Besides which the deep loving 
loyalty which he felt for his old leader made the 
shock intensely painful. It was the first great 
wrench of his life, the first gap which the angel 
Death had made in his circle, and he felt numbed, 
and beaten down, and spiritless. Well, well! 1 
believe it was good for him and for many others in 
like case ; who had to learn by that loss, that the 
soul of man cannot stand or lean upon any human 
prop, however strong, and wise, and good ; but that 
He upon whom alone it can stand and lean will 
knock away all such props in His own wise and 
merciful way, until there is no ground or stay left but 
Himself, the Rock of Ages, upon whom alone a sure 
foundation for every soul of man is laid. 

As he wearily laboured at his line, the thought 
struck him, “ it may all be false, a mere newspaper 
lie,” and he strode up to the recumbent smoker. 

“ Let me look at the paper,” said he. 

“ Nothing else in it,” answered the other, handing 
it up to him listlessly. — “Hullo, Brown! what’s the 
matter, old fellow — ain’t you well?” 

“ Where is it ? ” said Tom, turning over the leaves, 
his hands trembling, and his eyes swimming, so that 
be could not read. 


FINIS. 


399 


“ What ? What are you looking for ? ” said his 
friend, jumping up and looking over his shoulder. 

“ That — about Arnold,” said Tom. 

“ Oh here,” said the other, putting his finger on 
the paragraph. Tom read it over and over again ; 
there could be no mistake of identity, though the 
account was short enough. 

u Thank you,” said he at last, dropping the paper, 
“ I shall go for a walk : don’t you and Herbert wait 
supper for me.” And away he strode, up over the 
moor at the back of the house, to be alone, and 
master his grief if possible. 

His friend looked after him, sympathizing and 
wondering, and knocking the ashes out of his pipe, 
walked over to Herbert. After a short parley they 
walked together up to the house. 

“ I’m afraid that confounded newspaper has spoiled 
Brown’s fun for this trip.” 

“ How odd that he should be so fond of his old 
master,” said Herbert. Yet they also were both pub- 
lic-school men. 

The two, however, notwithstanding Tom’s pro- 
hibition, waited supper for him, and had every- 
thing ready when he came back some half-an- 
hour afterwards. But he could not join in their 
cheerful talk, and the party was soon silent, not- 
withstanding the efforts of all three. One thing 
only had Tom resolved, and that was that he 
couldn’t stay in Scotland any longer; he felt an 
irresistible longing to get to Rugby, and then home, 
and soon broke it to the others, who had too much 
tact to oppose. 


400 


FINIS. 


So by daylight the next morning he was marching 
through Rosshire, and in the evening hit the Cale- 
donian canal, took the next steamer, and travelled as 
fast as boat and railway could carry him to the 
Rugby station. 

As he walked up to the town he felt shy and 
afraid of being seen, and took the back streets ; why, 
he didn’t know, but he followed his instinct. At 
the school-gates he made a dead pause ; there was 
not a soul in the quadrangle — all was lonely, and 
silent, and sad. So with another effort he strode 
through the quadrangle, and into the school-house 
offices. 

He found the little matron in her room, in deep 
mourning ; shook her hand, tried to talk, and moved 
nervously about : she was evidently thinking of 
the same subject as he, but he couldn’t begin talk- 
ing. 

“ Where shall I find Thomas ? ” said he at last, 
getting desperate. 

“ In the servants’ hall, I think, sir. But won’t you 
take any thing ? ” said the matron, looking rather 
disappointed. 

“ No, thank you,” said he, and strode off again to 
find the old verger, who was sitting in his little den 
as of old, puzzling over hieroglyphics. 

He looked up through his spectacles, as Tom seized 
his hand and wrung it. 

“ Ah ! you’ve heard all about it, sir, I see,” said 
he. 

Tom nodded, and then sat down on the shoe- 
board, while the old man told his tale, and wiped 


FINIS. 


401 


his spectacles, and fairly flowed over with quaint, 
homely, honest sorrow. 

By the time he had done, Tom felt much better. 

“Where is he buried, Thomas?” said he at 
last. 

“ Under the altar in the chapel, sir,” answered 
Thomas. “ You’d like to have the key, I dare say.” 

“ Thank you, Thomas — yes, I should, very much.” 
And the old man fumbled among his bunch, and 
then got up, as though he would go with him ; but 
after a few steps stopped short and said, “ Perhaps 
you’d like to go by yourself, sir? ” 

Tom nodded, and the bunch of keys were handed 
to him with an injunction to be sure and lock the 
door after him, and bring them back before eight 
o’clock. 

He walked quickly through the quadrangle and 
out into the close. The longing which had been 
upon him and driven him thus far, like the gad-fly 
in the Greek legends, giving him no rest in mind 
or body, seemed all of a sudden not to be satisfied, 
but to shrivel up, and pall. “ Why should I go on ? 
It’s no use,” he thought, and threw himself at full 
length on the turf, and looked vaguely and listlessly 
at all the well-known objects. There were a few 
of the town boys playing cricket, their wicket 
pitched on the best piece in the middle of the 
big-side ground, a sin about equal to sacrilege in 
the eyes of a captain of the eleven. He wafe very 
nearly getting up to go and send them off. “ Pshaw ! 
they won’t remember me. They’ve more right there 
than I,” he muttered. And the thought that his 
35 


402 


FINIS. 


sceptre had departed, and his mark was wearing 
out, came home to him for the first time, and bit- 
terly enough. He was lying on the very spot where 
the fights came off ; where he himself had fought 
six years ago his first and last battle. He conjured 
up the, scene till he could almost hear the shouts of 
the ring, and East’s whisper in his ear ; and looking 
across the close to the Doctor’s private door, half 
expected to see it open, and the tall figure in cap 
and gown come striding under the elm-trees towards 
him. * 

No, no ! that sight could never be seen again. 
There was no flag flying on the round tower ; the 
school-house windows were all shuttered up ; and 
when the flag went up again, and the shutters came 
down, it would be to welcome a stranger. All that 
was left on earth of him whom he had honoured, 
was lying cold and still under the chapel floor. He 
would go in and see the place once more, and then 
leave it once for all. New men and new methods 
might do for other people ; let those who would 
worship the rising star, he at least would be faithful 
to the sun which had set. And so he got up, and 
walked to the chapel door and unlocked it, fancying 
himself the only mourner in all the broad land, and 
feeding on his own selfish sorrow. 

He passed through the vestibule, and then paused 
for a moment to glance over the empty benches. 
His heart was still proud and high, and he walked 
up to the seat which he had last occupied as a sixth- 
form boy, and sat himself down there to collect his 
thoughts. 


FINIS. 


403 


And, truth to tell, they needed collecting and set- 
ting in order not a little. The memories of eight 
years were all dancing through his brain, and carry- 
ing him about whither they would ; while beneath' 
them all, his heart was throbbing with the dull sense 
of a loss that could never be made up to him. The 
rays of the evening sun came solemnly through the 
painted windows above his head and fell in gorgeous 
colours on the opposite wall, and the perfect still- 
ness soothed his spirit by little and little. And he 
turned to the pulpit, and looked at it, and then 'Hail- 
ing forward, with his head on his hands, groaned 
aloud. — 1 If he could only have seen the Doctor 
again for one five minutes, to have told him all that 
was in his heart, what he owed to him, how he loved 
and reverenced him, and would, by God’s help, fol- 
low his steps in life and death, he could have borne 
it all without a murmur. But that he should have 
gone away for ever without knowing it all, was too 

much to bear.’ “ But am I sure that he does not 

know it all ? ” — the thought made him start — “ May 
he not even now be near me, in this very chapel? 
If he be, am I sorrowing as he would have me sor- 
row — as I shall wish to have sorrowed when I shall 
meet him again ? ” 

He raised himself up and looked round ; and after 
a minute rose and walked humbly down to the low- 
est bench, and sat down on the very seat which he 
had occupied on Jus first Sunday at Rugby. And 
then the old memories rushed back again, but soft- 
ened and subdued, and soothing him as he let him- 
self be carried away by them. And he looked up 


404 


FINIS. 


at the great painted window above the altar, and 
remembered how, when a little boy, he used to try 
not to look through it at the elm-trees and the rooks, 
before the painted glass came — and the subscription 
for the painted glass, and the letter he wrote home 
for money to give to it. And there, down below, 
was the very name of the boy who sat on his right 
hand on that first day, scratched rudely in the oak 
panelling. 

And then came the thought of all his old school- 
fellows , and form after form of boys, nobler, and 
braver, and purer than he, rose up and seemed to 
rebuke him. Could he not think of them, and what 
they had felt and were feeling ; they who had hon- 
oured and loved from the first, the man whom he had 
taken years to know and love ? Could he not think 
of those yet dearer to him who was gone, who bore 
his name and shared his blood, and were now without 
a husband or a father ? Then the grief which he be- 
gan to share with others became gentle and holy, and 
he rose up once more, and walked up the steps to 
the altar ; and while the tears flowed freely down his 
cheeks, knelt down humbly and hopefully, to lay 
down there his share of a burden which had proved 
itself too heavy for him to bear in his own strength. 

Here let us leave him — where better could we leave 
him, than at the altar, before which he had first caught 
a glimpse of the glory of his birthright, and felt the 
drawing of the bond which links all living souls to- 
gether in one brotherhood — at the grave beneath the 
altar of him who had opened his eyes to see that glory, 
and softened his heart till it could feel that bond. 


FINIS. 


405 


And let ns not be hard on him, if at that moment 
his soul is fuller of the tomb and him who lies there, 
than of the altar and Him of whom it speaks. Such 
stages have to be gone through, I believe, by all 
young and brave souls, who must win their way 
through hero-worship, to the worship of Him who is 
the King and Lord of heroes. For it is only through 
our mysterious human relationships, through the love 
and tenderness and purity of mothers, and sisters, and 
wives, — through the strength and courage and wis- 
dom of fathers, and brothers, and teachers, that we 
can come to the knowledge of Him, in whom alone 
the love, and the tenderness, and the purity, and the 
strength, and the courage, and the wisdom of all 
these dwell forever and ever in perfect fulness. 


TtTE END. 

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